


Neon Rain

by Honorificabilitudinitatibus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Androids, Angst, Angst and Humor, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Sansa Stark, Body Horror, Body Modification, Class Differences, Cyberpunk, Cyborgs, F/F, F/M, Far too many Greyjoys to be tasteful, Heist, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Trauma, Motorcycles, Needles, Organized Crime, POV Sansa Stark, Recreational Drug Use, SO MUCH IRONY, Sansa Stark-centric, Science Fiction, Secret Organizations, Serious artistic license with everything from genetics to mechanics, Tattoos, do not try this at home, look Sansa has a really cool motorcycle and i don't know what else you could want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23227168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honorificabilitudinitatibus/pseuds/Honorificabilitudinitatibus
Summary: When she was younger and more naïve, she assumed that her soulmark was the result of a simple misunderstanding. The older Sansa gets, though, the more ironic it feels to be branded a criminal in neat silver handwriting down her spine, especially as she sinks further into the city's underworld.Arya thinks it’shilarious.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark & Starks
Comments: 96
Kudos: 371





	1. Halogen Nights

The lights of the city blazed above and below her as Sansa Stark rode, red hair rippling out from behind her jet black helmet. The buzz of the charged magnetic grid under the city felt electric under her skin as she leaned into each turn, the aqua lights on her bike lit up in dizzying patterns as she wove in and out of the other vehicles. Turning on a dime, she took one of the ramps up to the higher levels of the city, emerging into an area where the lights were blinding and cool, illuminating the floating street platforms in various brilliant hues.

She wrinkled her nose, thinking of how different it was from the tiny apartment she shared with her siblings in the city’s lower levels, the hum of dim streetlamps and dripping water background static amidst the giant cords that brought power to the rest of the city, wrapped around buildings and almost covering the sky. Here, the skyline was dominated by skyscrapers and floating platforms at dizzying heights, the light pollution far too strong for her to see the stars.

As she climbed higher, passing a junction of clear tubes that housed the tram system, she could begin to smell the cleaner air- the giant machines that filtered through the city’s air humming gently in the background as they allowed for easier breathing.

 _For the rich, at least_. Sansa thought, snorting as she quickly swerved to avoid a quickly dropping hovercar, four teenagers- all their bodies intact, Sansa noted- laughing within the shiny candy-apple red speeder. She catches a glimpse of one boy's eyes- pupils blown wide open around sharp electric blue eyeliner.

 _Shimmer._ She thinks, shaking her head in disgust as she quickly corrects her course, pushing a leather boot down onto the pedals to speed up. It was a party drug for the rich- no one else could afford to lose control in a city like this.

“Are you in position?” Arya’s voice crackles into her earpiece, and Sansa grimaces.

“Few minutes behind-“ she mutters, swearing violently as she realizes that there’s a police motorcycle behind her, “-Might be a few later. Arya, _don’t_ go in- you’re strictly backup unless things really go sideways.”

“You never let me have any fun.” Arya complained.

“I need you to stay _put_ so that you can bail me out later if I need- if I make it there.” Sansa scolded. Arya was a better trick driver than even Sansa was, and she was waiting in the Skylight District in the unlikely event that Sansa was incapacitated enough to need a ride back.

“What’s going on?” Robb demanded, and Sansa gritted her teeth as sirens started to wail somewhere in the distance below her.

“Cop’s made me.” She growled, preparing to do something phenomenally stupid. Technically, if a nobody like Sansa wanted to be in the upper levels, she had to take a publicly registered transport so that she could be easily tracked- they couldn’t let just anybody wander around the wealthier districts, after all. Anonymity, these days, was a commodity that only the wealthy could afford.

Theon had promised her that the identification codes that flashed on the back of her bike were enough to let her into at least the penultimate levels of the city, but they must have expired- you had to pay an astronomical fee to afford any kind of code that let you move freely around the city. 

“Android or human?”

“Human by the looks of him.” Sansa grits out, turning so sharply that her bike almost goes parallel to the fiberglass highway, crossing over the blinking lights that mark out lanes. “He’s all in white. Rick- honest assessment- are the mods we made to the bike last week ready to use?”

“That’s fucking risky, San.” Her youngest brother comes over the line, sounding like he’s in the middle of eating something.

“Lanaguage, Rick.” Robb mutters.

“And don’t eat over the comms, asshole!” Bran crows, and Sansa spares a moment to roll her eyes, despite the fact that she’s going well over 95, swerving in and out of the packed traffic on the freeway.

“Is it going to blow up in my face if I try it or not?” she hisses, throwing a glance behind her. “He’s gaining on me and I need to lose him!”

“Hopefully not.” Rick mutters, and Sansa can hear him typing frantically in the background to look up the specs of the bike that the two of them had cobbled together from scavenged parts over the last few years. Sansa’s a fairly good mechanic in her own right, but Rickon was absolutely brilliant- Sansa desperately wished they could afford to send him to university. “Lock your feet in first, San, but be ready to flip the disengage switch if the engine stalls- you’re gonna have to get off quick or you’ll be dragged.”

“Sansa-“ she hears Robb’s warning, and disregards it.

“Got it.” She mutters, flipping up the small control panel in front of her to quickly punch out the command she and Rick had worked into the bike’s engine a while back- the stealth mode would have worked well enough to fool a droid’s algorithms, but human cops were harder to shake. She gritted her teeth, cursing the carbon-first movement. If it wasn’t for those luddites, the police force would still be mostly robotic- and a hell of a lot easier to evade. “This had better fucking work.” She muttered, not daring to close her eyes as she pressed the chip in her wrist to the the ignition key.

Instantly, she could feel the engine heat up beneath her thighs, and she locked in her boots, grasping the handlebars for dear life as her bike _shot_ forward. It was all she could do to steer around the other vehicles, the neon holograms around her blurring into bright brushstrokes of color as she turned, flying up another ramp and swearing as she narrowly avoided another bus. She could feel the magnetic pull stall her bike’s computer system slightly as she went over the electromagnetic tracks that guided the city’s public transit, and hoped like hell it wouldn't disrupt the bike's computer too badly.

And then she was pulling around into a side street, quickly keying her bike to reflect the lime green and white lights of the courier services that were common in the skylight district- the wealthiest part of the capitol. The fiberglass streets were clear beneath her bike- clean and flashing brilliant red lights- indicating that she was speeding. She slowed slightly, pausing for a brief second to look through the road to the buzz and congestion of the levels below.

The city spread out like a circuit board, blinking with activity. It was quiet up here though, Sansa thought. Not like the lower levels where the massive generators that powered the rest of the city churned so loudly that many residents had to wear ear protection to avoid going completely deaf. They’d managed to soundproof the shop to an extent, but Robb had already had to have a cybernetic implant put into his right ear to avoid losing his hearing entirely. The chrome snaked up the side of his head, the lights up and down it blinking constantly. Sansa knew it kept Rickon up sometimes at night, but none of them wanted Robb to feel guilty about it.

He already felt guilty about enough.

The city stretched below her like a giant, cavernous opening, Sansa wondered if the people who lived up here thought about how their success- their quiet, clean world- was built upon them quite literally walking over the rest of the city. She was distracted from her thoughts, though, by Robb’s yelling over the comms.

“Sansa I fucking swear to god-“

“No need to get god involved, Robb.” Sansa chuckled, feeling some of the adrenaline from the chase flooding her veins. It was a heady sensation, and she could feel herself grinning. “I’m fine- It worked perfectly, Ricky.”

“ _Fuck_ yeah!”

“What’s your ETA, San?” Arya murmured, and Sansa could hear the sounds of the street behind her. “I’m getting bored just hanging around here.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Sansa told her, pulling up to the garage. "You have the cams looped here, Bran?"

"You won't show up at all." he promised. 

The sensors beeped at her, and she took off her helmet, letting them scan her one purple eye. This specific gene mod had been hard as hell to get ahold of, but was hopefully about to pay dividends. The lights around her flashed green, and Sansa grinned as the lift began to move her up into the building’s garage.

“Arya, your biohacker is worth his weight in platinum.” She muttered, temporarily abandoning her bike as she ducked into an alcove of the garage. Bran had hacked into the plans a week ago, and found a blind spot in one of the cameras that allowed Sansa to quickly deprogram her body mod and don the dove gray evening gown she’d managed to find in a scrap sale a few weeks prior. A bit of tailoring, and some beading near the top, and it would blend right in with the rest of the wealthy guests.

“I still don’t like him.” Robb grumbled.

“You don’t like anyone.” Sansa heard Bran retort, as she uncapped a syringe from her pocket, holding the cap in her teeth as she slowly injected herself with another- far less expensive- gene mod. She hissed as she felt the sting in her eyes- their pigment fading slowly from violet to brown.

Blinking back a few reflexive tears, she quickly donned a short, platinum blonde wig that faded into a fashionable ombre yellow at the ends, wrinkling her nose as she felt the nanites on the edge seal it to her skin and completely cover her red hair. She’d gone analog with her eyebrows, using a white concealer brush to match them to her wig. The eye mods were necessary to fool the retinal scanners, but even with the discount they’d gotten, eyebrow mods would have been an unnecessary cost.

“Jaquen’s the best there is.” Arya preened.

“He’s an uncultured ass.” Robb muttered.

“You just don’t like him because he hits on Sansa.” Rick snorted, sounding like he’d shoved another handful of chips in his mouth. Sansa just _barely_ avoided rolling her eyes as she ran her hands through the dip-dyed yellow ends of her wig, smoothing it out before she made her way towards the entrance.

“If anything, that shows that he has good taste, at the very least.” Bran pointed out.

“Besides, his little crush got us one hell of a discount when we sent San to get the mods this time.” Arya pointed out.

“Your wrist?” one of the guards asked, as Sansa approached. She held out the right wrist, obligingly, and the beady-eyed man waved a scanner over the chip in her right arm. She was immensely grateful for the spray skin covering the gouging wound where she’d injected the new chip earlier- her arm looked clear as ever, even as her wrist still hurt.

The chips were relatively secure because the software on them was next to impossible to duplicate; you could get in just about anywhere with the right credentials on your chip, and often, security simply stopped after you’d been scanned. Bran, however, was a brilliant little shit who could make computers do anything he wanted, and had successfully figured out how to program false government ID chips- they hurt like a bitch to insert, and Sansa was resigned to the deep scars that were beginning to form on her right forearm, but they were a brilliant piece of work, and the key to most of Sansa’s successful jobs. The scanner beeped, and the guard waved Sansa lazily through.

“You’re a genius, B.” She whispered, knowing the synthskin mic patch stuck to her throat would pick up the words.

“I try.” Bran responded, and Sansa could hear clicking as he typed in the background. “When you need it, I can loop the cams to give you about half an hour to get in and out.”

“Got it.” Sansa murmured, barely moving her lips.

She followed the other guests down the hall, but took the stairs to the second level of the ballroom, allowing her to stand at the balcony and blend in among the other guests. One of the waiters offered her a crystal flute of champagne and she took it with a flirty smile, pretending to sip it as she looked out over Rhaegar Targaryen’s charity gala for the city denizens who had been displaced by the recent flooding in the basement districts. Somehow, Sansa doubted that the wealthy oligarch had ever even set foot below the fifth level, much less the very bottom of the city.

Sansa could remember dreaming about parties like this- wishing and hoping and saving in hopes that one day she would be able to afford to live like this in the highest levels of the city- they’d lived mid-level, and it hadn’t felt impossible then.

But that had been before Bran’s accident. Before the treatments, and the debt her family had wracked up to keep her brother alive after a horrific fall- before she learned that her father had cut a deal with the notoriously dangerous mob boss, Roose Bolton- just so that he could afford to save his son’s life.

Before her father got in over his head, and was shot, execution style, in the middle of the afternoon in the garden district, as the sun shone mockingly overhead.

Her mother, half-mad with grief, had made the mistake of digging too deeply, and Sansa had gotten a horrific phone call several months later from the hospital- her mother was dead, and Robb was in critical condition. He’d practically been butchered, and Sansa still didn’t know how he managed to survive his injuries- they hadn’t let her see her mother’s body, and she knew the attack had been brutal beyond what she was capable of comprehending.

Sansa had spent so long being angry with her father for what he had done- for all the choices he’d made that had led to his own death- that had led to her mother’s death, and to Robb’s injuries. It had been foolish- stupid- to get involved with any sort of organized crime, no matter how badly they had needed the money. He could have done anything- _anything-_ else to make ends meet.

But then Sansa found herself as the head of the family- Arya and Bran and Rickon all dependent on her, and Robb needing surgeries and biomedical mods beyond what she could afford. There wasn’t a single bank or lender in the city that was willing to take a chance on a desperate girl only halfway through university on a scholarship, and she'd been unable to find a job that would pay what she needed for treatments.

Sansa had long since forgiven her father, and she desperately wished she could apologize to him in person for doubting him- for not realizing at first that he had done the best that he could- that he had done, really, all that he could.

Her unorthodox solution had come in the form of Robb’s best friend, Theon Greyjoy.

Sansa wanted to shake herself with how naïve she had been before, not to realize that Theon’s family were _those_ Greyjoys, but when he offered her the chance to assist on a few jobs for the syndicate, Sansa had jumped at it. It wasn’t a loan- it was a _job_ , because Sansa did not intend to owe money to anyone- and it gave her the opportunity to fund both the surgeries that Robb needed to live, and the maintenance on the prosthetics that allowed Bran to walk.

One job had turned into another, and Sansa had built something of a reputation as a very successful thief- accidentally earning the respect of Theon’s terrifying siblings along the way. She _hated_ that Arya and Bran and Rickon had all been dragged into her schemes, but they all had skillsets that Sansa needed to succeed, and they’d managed to stay afloat with that money for a few years now.

If she was successful tonight, Sansa knew, she wouldn’t have to take another job like this for a few months at least. Her client was apparently very wealthy- and near fanatic about privacy, which Sansa could appreciate.

Her eyes found Rhaegar Targaryen in the middle of the room, laughing at something his companions were saying, his pale hair slicked back into a smooth ponytail over a suit of deep red. It flickered with a scale pattern when he moved, and she caught hints of silver and orange and black, matching the swirling, luminescent tattoos that made their way up his neck. Temporary ink injections, Sansa was sure. He could certainly afford to change his tats on a whim if he wanted to, and who knew what would be fashionable come tomorrow, anyways?

She made his head of security- Jon Connington, who they had done some serious background research on, figuring that he would be their biggest obstacle. He was hovering close to Rhaegar, though, Sansa noticed, and hadn’t taken his eyes off the oligarch all night.

Apparently, Arya had been right about his feelings, and Sansa owed her sister money.

Connington distracted, and the remainder of security occupied with trying to corral the group of wealthy, inebriated guests, Sansa figured now was as good a time as any.

“I’ll need that time now.” She quietly murmured, setting her glass down and walking towards the vault.

“You got it, San.” Bran told her. “You’re practically invisible- 3rd door on the left and you’ll be able to find the auction items.”

* * *

She was in, typing frantically on the outer control panel as Bran hissed instructions in her ear, when someone walked into the room.

Sansa didn’t hesitate, immediately whipping out the tiny force-field generator that Rickon had helped her build and throwing it at the man’s feet. He froze, mostly immobilized by the device, and Sansa carefully shut the door behind him before he could make a noise. The room itself was completely soundproofed, and the cameras were set to loop for another twelve minutes. Sansa took a moment to analyze the man, and almost swore when she noticed his violet eyes.

A Targaryen. She’d been caught by a _fucking_ Targaryen like she was some kind of amateur. This one must have been Jon- there wasn’t another Targaryen male in the family with dark hair, and his face structure was similar enough to the pictures she’d seen that she was pretty sure it was him. He was disgustingly beautiful- with the kind of dewy, clear skin that only came from very expensive cosmetic mod procedures, and the fabric of his suit looked like it had nanites woven into it that lent it the appearance of falling stars. Sansa knew what nanite fabric cost, and a suit like that would have been three or four months of the rent the Starks paid on the small apartment they shared, easily.

He seemed momentarily stunned long enough for Sansa to quickly tap out a message on the comm screen that stretched around her wrist telling her family that she was compromised, but fine, and for everyone to stay off the comms until she got out. 

“Well, you’re certainly the prettiest thief I’ve ever seen.” He finally said, raising a brow and Sansa froze, back instantly straightening upon hearing the words that curved down her spine in scratchy silver writing.

Her parents had _agonized_ over her words for the longest time, and Sansa, being the goody-two shoes that she was, had always assumed they would be a misunderstanding of some sort. When she had gotten into business with the Greyjoy syndicate, and started doing jobs for Illyrio Mopatis, they had begun to feel more like a cruel irony than anything else. 

Honestly, for a while, Sansa had been expecting someone in one of the syndicates to say them, or to hear them from someone who hired her for a job. Arya thought they were _hilarious,_ even though Robb winced every time she brought them up.

Sansa wasn’t sure that she could really appreciate the joke right now, as she continued to type the code that Bran was murmuring to her. Her brother’s voice was shaky, and she knew that he and Arya and Robb and Rickon all had heard the words that Jon Targaryen had just said to her. Sansa’s siblings all knew exactly what her words said- Theon did too, and it had become a running family joke at this point, with everyone placing bets on the likely outcomes. The thought ran through her mind that Rickon was going to win the pot- he’d been the only one who thought she would hear it from a mark.

Sansa was going to put him in a headlock when she got back for the audacity of being right.

As she ran through the different combinations, the safe door swung open, and a second safe sat inside, a control panel off to the side. Finally, something going her way- she’d learned how circuitry worked from her dad, and this safe was something Sansa could practically rewire in her sleep.

“You’re not going to say anything?” the Targaryen- Christ, Sansa’s _soulmate_ \- asked, sounding very calm for someone who currently couldn’t move.

She thought frantically as she worked, ignoring his question as she restrung several of the wires, carefully making sure that she didn’t trip the secondary alarms. The words were a guarantee- she needed to say something to him _now_ , or else she risked running into him somewhere where she looked a bit more like herself, and might have to explain why she couldn’t show him her words. But what to say so that she could get out of here tonight with him none the wiser?

“So where’s a nice girl like you learn to hotwire a vault like this?” Jon Targaryen asked, and Sansa could feel his smirk on the back of her neck, resisting the urge to glare at him and give him a better look at her face. “I mean, I imagine you look pretty different normally, or else you’d be an awful thief, but is there a false name to go with the false everything else?” Sansa gritted her teeth and didn’t say anything. “What on earth do you want with this vault, anyways?”

Knocking him out would have triggered an emergency alarm in his ID chip, or Sansa would have just given him a good smack on the head with the retractable electric staff she had tucked into a thigh holster under her dress. She’d showed it to Theon a while ago, and upon seeing the look on Robb’s face when she seemingly pulled in out of nowhere, he’d laughed so hard he’d had to sit down.

Something simple. A yes or a no. a basic phrase. Nothing identifying, because Sansa couldn’t afford to have a liability like this in her life, much as a small part of her heart still craved the security of a soul match.

“You know, it seems like you have a lot of talents- you could easily put them to better use.” Jon said. “Why become a thief? Seems like a waste of potential.”

Sansa didn’t know what came over her, but something there in his presumptuous words made her just _so_ angry- This man had _no_ idea what she had sacrificed to keep Robb alive- to keep their family together. She’d tried everything before resorting to this- but she had no name and no connections- no funds to her name, and no other options.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She hissed, wheeling around, and then quickly snapping her lips shut, mentally reciting every vulgar word she knew as his eyes widened, and he actually- was he _smiling_?

“You’re my-“

“No.” Sansa shook her head, retrieving the package and tucking it into a nanofoam case, securing it in her bag once the nanite material had shaped itself protectively around the artifact.

“We should at least talk about this-“ he insisted, his eyes eager as he tried to catch a glimpse of her face, “I can help you- I won’t let you get in trouble here-“

“You don’t need me in your life.” Sansa told him, not unkindly. Mods or not, he was still very handsome, and there was a pang in part of her heart for the girl she had been when she was younger- the romantic that she couldn’t afford to be now. “I would ruin you.” She whispered.

“Don’t you think that’s for me to decide?” he asked, his eyes kind. Sansa hated him a little bit for that. “Please- just- is there a way I can contact you? I won’t- I don’t care what my father’s business entails- I’m not going to let you get in trouble for this- I just want to talk with you-“

“You don’t understand.” Sansa muttered, keeping her voice lower than it was normally, and speaking with a slight accent to disguise her normal inflection, as well as the rising emotion she could feel in her chest. “I- I can’t-“

“You can’t what?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and giving her a sympathetic look. “Please- I’m sure I can help you-“

Sansa’s spine stiffened, and she walked forward, reaching down to deprogram the force-field- trying to ignore the hope in his eyes as she turned it off, allowing him to move. 

“Thank you.” He said, smiling at her as she stood, trying not to give him too good of a look at her face as she reached into her bag for one of her contingency plans.

“I don’t need your help.” She whispered, hating herself with every word. She was going to have to move quickly after this stunt. “But I am sorry about this.”

“What-?“

Sansa jabbed the needle she’d pulled from her bag into his leg, watching his eyes widen as he dropped like a stone, and quickly ran over to climb out of the window. She’d been dying to try out the baton on someone who wasn’t one of Theon’s creepy uncles, but it seemed especially amoral to electrocute her soulmate, and Sansa already had enough red marks on her conscience. She didn’t need to add another.

Mentally thanking her Uncle Brandon for teaching her and all her siblings how to climb when they were younger- turning the gear he’d used to do maintenance on the sides of the city skyscrapers into the most irresponsible babysitting activity Sansa could remember- she quickly made her way down using the magnetized gloves Rickon had made her fashioned after their uncle’s, and made her way down the steel supports. Four and a half minutes later, she dropped shakily into the garage, nearly tripping over her own feet as she thought about the trusting look he’d given her- right before she had shot him with a sedative strong enough to knock out a man twice his size.

Putting on her leathers and removing the wig took just a few minutes, and then she was out- for some goddamn reason, the Targaryens had next to no security for any vehicles leaving the deck- and then she was racing through the night, easily blending in with another group of couriers headed back down to the lower levels.

“I’m out.” She muttered, over her comms. “I’m going to make the drop and head to Theon’s to make sure no one follows me back to you guys.”

“Sansa-“ Robb murmured, his tone too kind, too sympathetic for Sansa to handle right now.

“Tell Theon he’s still a dumbass.” Arya chimed in, and Sansa had never been more grateful for an interruption. “I’m on my way back now- I got onto the tram before they realized you triggered an alarm.”

“Be careful.” Sansa murmured, carefully maneuvering her way back down to the lower levels, watching the rim of the illuminated fiberglass road as it framed the cavernous city below with brightly blinking lights. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Be safe, San.” Robb murmured.

“I will.” She promised, biting her lip hard enough that her mouth tasted of metal. 

If she had to make sure that the inside of her helmet didn’t mist up from her tears on the drive back, that wasn’t anyone’s business but hers.


	2. Programmed Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Processing the whole ‘soulmate’ situation is going to take some time for Sansa, not to mention the rest of her family. 
> 
> Across the city, Jon can’t stop thinking about his soulmate, but has no idea where to find her, much less where to start looking.

As necessary as they were, Sansa didn’t like most of the Greyjoys, and she didn’t trust almost any of them. Theon had always been an exception, though being one of Robb’s close friends, and Sansa genuinely liked Asha Greyjoy’s sharp wit and sarcasm, even if she didn’t entirely trust the girl.

Rodrik Greyjoy- Theon’s eldest brother- was something of an anomaly. Sansa didn’t like him very much, but she did trust his word. He was openly disdainful of Robb, but rather deferential to Sansa, and Theon had tried to explain it once, and not done a great job.

“He respects that you run your family.” Theon had told her. “He’s kind of a dick about disability, and I argue with him about Robb a lot, but look at yourself from his perspective. You basically had a million horrible things happen to you one after the other, and your solution to solving your debts involved getting involved with a rival syndicate and becoming the world’s most unexpected cat burglar. You’re basically keeping your family afloat, and he respects your skill- I think that’s it.”

Sansa had seen Rodrik Greyjoy nearly strangle his and Theon’s brother Maron- a man she was very careful to never be alone with- when he had made a lewd comment to Sansa during a meeting about a job, and it had startled her enough to even ask Asha about it, who had promptly laughed her ass off and refused to answer.

Theon insisted that Rodrik accompany them anytime they had to meet with Euron- who genuinely terrified Sansa- and it was like having a large, sullen shadow. Nevertheless, their unhinged uncle seemed to behave himself at least a bit around Rodrik. Sansa had had one conversation with the crow’s eye on her own, and he’d creeped her out so badly that she’d made excuses to leave and run into Rodrik and Theon on the way back, apparently looking a bit worse for the wear. Neither of them had let Sansa meet with Euron alone again, and she was grateful for it.

Tonight, after she had safely delivered the piece to her drop spot, and confirmed the delivery with Illyrio, Sansa found herself outside of Theon’s apartment, knocking hesitantly at the door. Shivering a bit in the chilly September air, she almost took a step back when a larger, hulking figure opened the door, until she realized that it was only Theon’s brother.

“Stark.” He greeted, most of his bulk filling the doorway. Theon was easily the smallest person in his family, Sansa thought, almost amused at the thought.

“Hi Rodrik.” She muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Is Theon home?”

“You can let them in, Rodge!” Sansa heard Theon yell, and she gratefully followed Rodrik into the warmer apartment, rubbing her arms to warm them up. “Who is- oh, hey San.” Theon greeted. “You look like hell- did you just finish that job?”

She nodded, miserably.

“Are you okay?” Theon asked, ushering her into the kitchen and gesturing towards the table, where she gratefully took a place as Theon put on water for the tea she liked. “You’re starting to worry me- am I going to have a pissed off Robb visiting me in an hour?”

Sansa’s eyes flicked to Rodrik, but as caustic and sullen as Theon’s oldest brother was, Sansa wasn’t particularly worried about him using her secret against her.

“You and Robb both owe Rickon money.” She muttered, drawing her knees up to her chest. “He won the pool.”

Theon froze, turning to her with a look of disbelief, and she saw Rodrik raise an eyebrow at her.

“You met your soulmate?” he asked, wide-eyed. Rodrik’s eyebrows shot up in a rare display of emotion. “He was a mark??”

“One of Rhaegar Targaryen’s kids.” Sansa muttered, burying her head in her knees, muffling her voice slightly. The gene mod was wearing off, and her eyes were prickling uncomfortably as they began to fade back to their usual blue. “The youngest one.”

“Did he hurt you?” Rodrik asked, surprising both Sansa and Theon enough that Sansa’s head shot up, and Theon almost dropped a mug, scrambling to catch it before it hit the floor.

She shook her head.

“No, Rick and I built a portable force-field unit that I used to contain him the minute he got into the room.” She muttered, scrubbing her face with her hands. “I ignored him, and he said my mark.”

“So he’s a bit of a flirt, then?” Theon snorted, as Rodrik stiffened.

“Yeah.” Sansa groaned. “Honestly, I kind of wanted a reprieve from having to explain everything to Robb, who heard my soulmate say that I was ‘the prettiest thief he’s ever seen’, and is not happy with this turn of events.”

“Stay as long as you want.” Theon shrugged. “Spare room is yours if you want- just remember that your brother does have a key to my place, and will probably show up soon if you don’t at least tell him where you are.”

“I already texted Robb.” Sansa grumbled. “He’s a goddamn Skylight district resident.” she muttered, burying her head in her knees again and mumbling her thanks as Theon set a steaming cup of tea in front of her. “I mean, I’d kind of given up on romance, but it would have been nice to at least have had someone to talk to, you know?”

“You’re not going to let the trust-fund brat romance you?” Theon joked, sitting across from her, next to his brother.

“Not after that trust-fund brat caught me stealing a priceless 7th century art piece from his father’s collection.” Sansa groaned. “I had a chance and I completely fucked it up, and I’m not sure if I’m angrier about the job getting compromised, or that I had the chance to give him a non-identifying one-word answer and completely fucked it up.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I let my pride get in the way.” Sansa muttered, embarrassed. “he implied that I had other options, and that I wasn’t reaching my full potential via thievery, after talking my ear off for five minutes, and I kind of got angry and told him to mind his own business before I could stop it.”

Theon snorted.

“I said ‘you have no idea what you’re talking about’ I think.” Sansa muttered, completely embarrassed. “And then I may have drugged him.”

“You drugged him?” Theon raised a brow.

“It seemed like bad luck to electrocute my soulmate.” Sansa groaned, and Rodrik actually _snorted_.

“At least you talked back to him.” Theon shrugged. “No guarantee you’ll ever see him again now- not unless he knows how to find you.”

“I didn’t give him anything.” Sansa shook her head, sadly. She fired off another brief text to Robb, tapping away on the translucent blue screen wrapped around her forearm and wincing as three messages popped up from Arya in quick succession. “Nothing at all. Unless he runs into me completely out of nowhere, which is next to impossible, given the _drastically_ different social circles we run in, I’ll probably never see him again.” Her voice was small, and she wondered why that thought didn’t make her happier. “Now Arya’s giving me hell about it- that offer of a room still stand for tonight?”

“Of course.” Theon nodded. “Rodge, were you still planning on staying?”

“Yeah.” The burly man nodded, and Sansa winced.

“I don’t have to stay if I’m taking your bed, Rodrik.” She shook her head. “I’ll head home-“

“I can sleep on Theon’s couch.” Rodrik shrugged, looking at her as though he was daring her to say otherwise.

“But-“

“Go sleep, Sansa.” He told her, raising an eyebrow at her with something that almost looked like amusement. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Believe me, San, we’ll all be happier if Rodge and I are both here on the off chance that someone tracks you back here.” Theon told her, ushering her into his spare room and shoving a change of clothes and a towel at her. “Now go shower- you smell like fried plasma and some serious perfume.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose and sniffed at her shirt. Ugh- he was right.

“Thanks, I guess.” She muttered, taking the items and shutting the door behind him.

* * *

“A Targaryen.” Theon muttered, starting the dishes as they heard the shower start from the other room. “A fucking Targaryen. Robb’s already fucking having _kittens_ if the texts he’s sending me are any indication, and I can’t say I blame him.”

“Little prick doesn’t deserve her.” Rodrik snorted, taking a swig of the whiskey Theon kept for him. Theon eyed him thoughtfully, wondering if his brother’s protectiveness with regards to Sansa was indicative of something more than just a protection of the investment Sansa represented for the Greyjoys.

“You know, Sansa would like you better if you stopped being such a dick to her brothers.” Theon pointed out.

Rodrik huffed.

“She doesn’t need to like me.” He muttered. “She just needs to trust me enough to let us shadow her any time fucking Euron or our idiot brother are around.”

Theon rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Rodge.” He muttered. “She could do worse.”

“She could also do a hell of a lot better.” Rodrik muttered, and Theon decided to drop the conversation before he had to deal with a moody brother on top of worrying about Sansa’s mental state and sending Robb a text every four minutes to tell him that Sansa was still fine.

* * *

They’d been going over this for two hours with security, and Jon was ready to start banging his head against the wall. His father and aunt looked ready to rip each other’s throats out, and he was only glad that Viserys had been too hungover to do anything yesterday but lie in his room all day and make inordinate demands of their staff and droids. Jon might have _actually_ considered walking off the side of the building if he’d had to deal with his horrible uncle on top of this security debriefing.

“It was your code that was used to get in, apparently.” Rhaegar told them, arching a perfect white brow at his sister.

“I wasn’t outside.” Dany hissed, glaring at him. “You know for a fact that I didn’t fucking leave the gala- someone must have cloned my retinal pattern!”

Aegon snorted.

“It would have to be one hell of a biohacker to manage Targaryen eyes.”

Jon kept his mouth shut, not wanting to give away any more than he already had, although he wasn’t really sure how cloning Dany’s retinal pattern would be any different than anyone else’s, once someone had a DNA sample.

Rhaenys looked suspicious of him, though, and kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye when she thought Jon wasn’t looking, but he’d managed to keep a straight face through the entire thing.

Sure, it was embarrassing that they knew he’d been knocked out by the thief, but fortunately, whoever had stolen the statue had apparently done an incredible job hacking into the video feed, and they hadn’t seen anything. For now, he was the only one who knew that the thief was his soulmate.

He was hoping that, if he could find her first, they didn’t ever need to know.

* * *

There were days when Sansa took her bike out just to feel alive- just to remind herself that, despite everything, she was still human. She winced, rolling her shoulder as she played a dangerous game of cat and mouse with evening traffic, darting in and out of the main lanes as cars sped past her in the rain. The streets were slick, coated with water and blurred with the lights of the holographic advertisements that blinked and flashed in the air around the highway. Her shoulder twanged again, and she muttered a few creative curses under her breath, feeling the cool rain run down her neck. It was the goddamn weather- part of her collarbone was replaced with a fiberglass and steel prosthetic, from an old injury, and it acted up every time it rained.

She couldn’t complain, though- so much of Robb’s skeleton had needed to be replaced that he was bed-bound anytime the rain lasted longer than four days. Bran’s prosthetics worked better, even as they worried that his mechanical spine replacement would begin to leech mercury into his body any day now, and it was Sansa’s hope that they’d be able to save enough someday for Robb to undergo a bone regrowth procedure after they’d paid for Bran’s surgery.

Taking one of the spiraling ramps down, fiberglass and silicon becoming concrete and asphalt, Sansa slowed down as she passed through the dark bottom level, the hazy yellow of the halogen lighting illuminating the tangle of power cords and different colored wires that strung above the streets. She passed a group of kids wearing face masks and goggles dismantling a speeder that looked like it had seen better days- scavengers, she had no doubt, but amateurs if they were only going after what people left out.

Sansa was on her way to visit a scavenger of her own- but not one careless enough to hunt in the twilight hours. If the upper levels were colorful clean, the basement district was packed and grimy, steam hissing from the sewer vents in between vendors selling all kinds of wares- from food, to cheap and flimsy silicon operating chips, to what Sansa was certain were counterfeit injectable dyes.

Pulling into a green-tinted street, Sansa had to swerve around a rusty metal dumpster that hadn’t been there last week before pulling into a garage bay marked with buzzing neon letters- the yellow of the ‘O’ was out, and so it merely read “ST NE’S”over a violet panel with peeling paint. The girl behind the counter grinned as she looked up, fluorescent violet tattoos flashing in dizzying patterns on the shaved half of her head, messy dark hair spilling down over her other shoulder.

“Thought you weren’t going to make it this week.” She greeted, looking Sansa up and down as she stepped off her bike, peeling her helmet off and smoothing back the strands that had fallen out of her braid.

“I had a job take a bit more out of me than I expected.” Sansa admitted, rifling through the pack she kept strapped to her shoulders when she drove. “Is Mya in, or is it just you today?”

“I’m having one hell of a time with a compressor model we found down near the river.” Mya Stone answered, stomping out with battered platform combat boots from a door atop the small staircase that lined the back wall of the garage. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, and mine are really fucking sore today. Randa, can you look it over and see if I’ve missed anything?”

“You got it, boss.” Myranda teased, her swirling tattoos flashing orange as she grinned and turned to walk upstairs. Sansa turned back to Mya Stone, flashing her a grin.

“She get new ink injections?” Sansa asked, pulling her hologram datapad out and bringing up her shopping list. “The orange is different.”

“Yeah, business was good last week.” Mya smirked, rubbing her eyes. “Had to talk her out of buying them from that asshole who sets up shop at the 3rd street junction- with what he charges, there’s no way his fluorescents aren’t completely packed with toxic fillers, and I don’t really have time to take my soulmate to a medic this week, regardless of how much I love her.”

“I had to do the same with Rick the other week.” Sansa laughed, “Thank fuck his soulmate is better at talking him out of bad decisions than I am.”

“Mormont’s a hellion.” Mya smirked, pulling up her own inventory list on the holoscreen and typing in several passcodes. “Ow- fuck!” she exclaimed, suddenly clapping a hand to one of her eyes and wincing.

“Rain giving your eye a hard time?” Sansa asked, sympathetically, resting her elbows on the counter. Mya had one hybrid eye- a biomech creation that Sansa had long admired- that allowed her amazing vision in the dark, even after she’d lost the original eye. It was a rarity among biomech mods down in the lower levels for its sophisticated- and hidden- circuitry. It could almost have passed for a real eye, if not for the blinking yellow in her right iris, and she’d never asked Mya what she’d had to pay for such a human-looking mod.

“It’s been shorting out a bit lately- giving me the _worst_ headaches.” Mya groaned. “I need to get it looked at by an actual biomechanic, but we’ve been too busy. Any chance you’ve seen yours lately?”

“Not since Bran’s last maintenance.” Sansa shook her head. “I’m pretty good with spinal tune-ups, but I don’t know enough about how the optic nerve works to even begin to tell you what’s wrong with your mod.”

“Worth a try.” Mya shrugged. “You ever going to take her up on the apprenticeship offer?”

Sansa sighed. Shae- the biomechanic that had developed most of Robb’s prosthetics and his cochlear implant- had been doing maintenance on Bran’s spine ever since their parents had died, and was one of the best that Sansa had ever come across, despite her somewhat caustic attitude. She’d been impressed enough by the delicate circuit patch-job that Sansa had done on one of Bran’s legs several years ago, though, that she’d offered her an apprenticeship on the spot.

It was a near-constant argument between her, Robb, and Arya- Shae couldn’t afford to pay her during apprenticeship, and so Sansa didn’t feel like she could take the position while they still needed to pay for Robb’s treatments and save for Bran’s surgery. Her job with Baelish didn’t pay enough to keep them all afloat, and the jobs she took under the table were far too time consuming for an apprenticeship. Arya had offered to take on more of her work, but Sansa wanted to minimize her sister’s exposure to the Greyjoys, and Arya’s apprenticeship with Jaquen would have suffered if she started playing cat burglar on a nightly basis.

She knew it ate away at Robb, that there wasn’t more he could do to bring in money, but it wasn’t his fault- employers tended to be really biased against anyone with highly visible med-mods, and half of her brother’s torso was covered in thick silicone skin, plasma tubes pulsing underneath his shirt with a ghostly glow. Biomed mods that looked real were just far more expensive than they were able to afford. You had to buy your humanity in the eyes of others, these days, and Sansa _hated_ it.

She haggled a bit with Mya, but generally trusted the girl’s pricing, and managed to get most of the parts Rickon had wanted for the repair jobs the shop had this week. She managed to fit most of the components in the compartment on the back of her bike, and as she was about to put her helmet on to leave, she caught sight of the same group of scavenger kids eyeing her bike from across the street. They knew better than to come into Mya and Myranda’s shop, but some of them were pointing and whispering at it with poorly concealed awe, and Sansa felt her lips curving into a bitter smile.

One of the circuits on her bike would probably feed them for at least four days, even if the bike as a whole wasn’t worth much- she and Rickon had cobbled it together with scavenged scrap, and her little brother had outdone himself with the fuel system in particular. But that didn’t mean much when you were a hungry kid, and if Sansa had left her bike on the street, it would have been stripped in minutes.

Their eyes were all wide, and cheeks gaunt, and Sansa bit her lip. She had bargained Mya down for several of the parts, and hadn’t spent as much as she planned to- it couldn’t hurt.

“You kids know Betha Rivers’ place, three streets down?” Sansa asked, crouching down to eye level as she approached the group. A blonde girl with spiky pigtails and engine grease on her nose nodded, suspiciously. “Tell her that Sansa Stark sent you- she’ll give all of you a good meal with this.”

She held out a hand to the girl, handing over a credit chip. The crowd eyed it with apprehension.

“What’s the price?” the boy next to her asked, one of his sleeves torn, revealing a crudely designed prosthetic arm.

“No price.” Sansa shook her head. “bargained down with my supplier to get a better rate for the parts I needed- my employer will just take the excess if you don’t.” It was a complete lie, but one they seemed able to accept, and the girl warily took the chip from her, clutching it in a grubby hand.

“Sansa Stark?” She quietly asked, her voice raspy.

“She’ll know who I am.” Sansa promised. “Go see her before eight, and she might have enough to give you seconds.”

They scrambled off with barely any more words, and Sansa desperately hoped they actually went to go see the pub owner. They were all too gaunt- and she knew that if circumstances were different, Sansa and her siblings could have been the ones scavenging for their next meal.

They had been lucky- there was always further to fall. It was a lesson Sansa had learned in brutal fashion, and would likely never forget.

* * *

She smiled as she leaned against the doorframe to Bran’s computer closet, watching as he leaned over the various holoscreens scattered around the small alcove.

“You know, you’re gonna need new eyes soon if you keep focusing that intently.” She joked, crossing her arms and giving him a small grin.

“As long as they can be a cool color.” Bran declared, spinning in his chair to face Sansa with a grin on his face. “What’s up San?”

“You’ve got an appointment with Shae in a couple of hours.” She raised a brow. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

“Nope-“ Bran smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He turned back to clear the holoscreens in front of him, and Sansa could see the faint glow of the plasma tubes that stretched down his artificial spine through his shirt, “-uh- just been busy.”

“Did you get more programming work?” Sansa asked, brows rising as she took in the sheer amount of data flashing on the screens in front of him.

“Some security stuff, ironically enough.” Bran smirked, standing to walk towards the door. Sansa could hear the repulsomotors in his prosthetics humming as he moved, and his steps were solid- Shae had suggested at their last session that they increase some of the core exercises he was doing, especially considering how heavy his legs were with the replacement valves the biomechanic had installed two weeks ago. “Um, San?”

“Mmhm?” Sansa responded, resisting the urge to sigh at where she knew this was going. They’d given her two days without pestering her about her soulmate- something she expected she probably owed Robb a thank-you for- so she couldn’t really be upset about Bran asking now. He’d always been a curious kid, after all.

“You met your soulmate.” Bran shrugged, giving her a small, sheepish smile. “How are you?”

Sansa scrubbed her eyes, sighing as she reached up to ruffle her brother’s hair.

“I swear to god- They added three inches to your legs when they gave you those prosthetics.” She lamented, smirking slightly. “My little brother is taller than me.”

“You’re changing the subject, San.”

She sighed, shoulders drooping.

“Fine. But grab everyone and we’ll talk about it while we get lunch together for you guys- I’m not sure I want to do this more than once.”

* * *

“So what do we do if he finds her?” Arya asked, quietly, after Sansa had left to go with Bran to his appointment. They'd gotten a recap from Sansa herself, but as usual, she was playing her emotions close to her chest. If she was worried or anxious about this, it was almost impossible to see.Prog

“We’ll figure something out.” Robb sighed, letting his forehead drop into his palm with a groan.

“Do you think he’d send San to prison?” Rickon asked, kicking his legs restlessly as he sat on top of one of the shop’s workbenches. He’d picked up one of the little hand puzzles they kept around the shop, and hadn’t seemed able to keep his hands still since Sansa had met the Targaryen the other night. He’d broken three of them in as many days, and if he broke Bran’s favorite one next, there would be hell to pay.

“I don’t know.” Robb answered, honestly, looking up at his brother with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “But we know he’s a bit of a flirt- maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll be too enamored with Sansa to even think about it.”

“Too enamored to forget that she stole a $3 million pre-Valyrian statue from his father’s private collection?” Arya muttered, crossing her arms. Robb shot her a disapproving look, but felt himself soften as he took in the fear in her eyes.

“It is Sansa.” Rickon pointed out. “She’s pretty enough to tongue-tie anyone.”

“We might be luckier if he never manages to find her again.” Robb pointed out, wincing as he rubbed one of the few patches of real skin he had left on the front of his abdomen. Sansa hadn’t wanted him to go without pain treatments, but they were so close to being able to fund Bran’s transplant, and Robb only felt like another drain on the family with the cost of his medications. They’d agreed not to tell the others he had been skipping out on them for the past few weeks, and he knew Sansa still wasn’t thrilled about his decision. But she understood. There was a lot, these days, that Sansa understood about quiet self-sacrifice.

After all, she was ready to throw away any chance she had of getting to be with her soulmate- the relationship Robb knew she had always dreamed of- just to keep them safe.

“He’s got the resources to find her.” Arya pointed out, her voice low again, and Robb sighed, going over to sit next to her and draw her in closer with an arm around her shoulder.

“Look, no matter what happens, neither Sansa nor I are gonna let anything happen to any of you, okay?” He told Arya, rubbing her arm affectionately. “Maybe he finds her, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he wants to expose her, maybe he doesn’t. We’ve figured out harder things before, and we’ll figure out harder things again- Sansa is more resourceful than any of us give her credit for.”

Arya sniffled, and Robb braced himself for the outburst he was sure was coming.

“She’s just so _stupid_!” She exclaimed, scrubbing at the tears on her face as she jumped up and started pacing the shop. “I’m not worried about us- about what will happen to _us_ if she’s caught- I’m fucking worried about _Sansa_ because she’s so goddamn selfless these days that she’d probably agree to anything this guy wanted just to keep them away from here! And then what fucking happens to her when he takes her away?? What then?” she sniffled, wiping her entire face on her sleeve. “What are we supposed to do without her?”

“That’s a lot of ifs.” Rickon pointed out, his voice hoarse as he beat Robb to the punch.

“I mean, what if he’s good?” Robb asked, almost laughing as Arya and Rickon’s heads swiveled to face him in unison, like something out of one of those old horror holovids. “What if he’s a good guy, and he’s right for Sansa, and she has a chance to actually be happy for once? I mean, it’s _Sansa_ , guys. Can you really imagine her perfect match being anything other than good and stupidly noble?”

“She’s still not gonna want to take the chance.” Rickon muttered, his legs thumping against the bench as he kicked them. Robb resisted the urge to tell him to cut it out even as his head pounded- Rickon had a tendency to move when he got nervous or worried, and he wasn’t going to begrudge him the same catharsis that Arya seemed to be getting from her anger. “Because she won’t wanna leave us.”

“So you’re saying that if he’s not the worst, then maybe she should?” Arya asked, slowly turning around and looking like she’d been punched in the gut.

“No matter what her soulmate wants, I don’t think Sansi would leave.” Rickon muttered, clenching and unclenching fists. “It would just be nice if she could be happy.”

“I don’t want to _keep_ her from that!” Arya hissed. “I just- I don’t want her to get hurt if this guy is like every other Skylight District brat!”

“But why not _try_ it?” Rickon emphasized, his glare meeting Arya’s. “I mean, I know you haven’t met your soulmate yet- but it’s pretty damn hard to ignore them-“

“And the decision here _has_ to be Sansa’s.” Robb calmly interjected, seizing his moment before they could start physically brawling in the shop- Arya looked more than a little irritated at Rick’s comment about her own missing soulmate. God, his fucking head hurt. “That’s the key here- whether she wants to even try to learn more about this guy or not. We’ll keep her safe either way- we will.” He insisted to Arya, who looked doubtful.

“She doesn’t even completely let me have her back on jobs yet.” She bitterly pointed out. “What makes you think we’ll even be able to?”

Robb resisted the urge to wince. He knew Arya hadn’t meant it that way, but it still fucking stung that he was in no physical shape to be any help to anyone most of the time.

“Look, we’ll call in favors with the Greyjoys if we have to.” Robb told her, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Theon’s brother has a thing for her- he’ll help us out if push comes to shove.”

“You’ve already been planning with Theon?” Arya asked, her shoulders slumping with something that looked like relief. “Okay- that’s- we can work with that.”

“There are still too many possibilities to just make one plan yet, though.” Robb pointed out. Rickon tilted his head to look at him, his coppery hair falling in messy curls over his eyes.

“What’s the best-case scenario?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Robb sighed again.

“Honestly?” he asked, running a hand through his own hair. He could feel some of the rivets in his skull like little bumps under his fingers. “Risky as it might be, I’m actually kind of hoping she decides to find him, and that he’s too busy thinking she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him to really consider the whole job thing. She deserves-“ his voice broke slightly, with emotion, and Arya’s expression had turned from angry to thoughtful. “She deserves nothing but good things, and sometimes it feels like she’s just going to keep giving up on her own happiness for the rest of time, just for our sake, and I certainly don’t want that for her.”

“is there a way we could figure out what kind of person he is?” Arya was asking, slowly, tapping her chin as she sniffled. “Maybe- maybe if we could figure it out-“

“You want to spy on the rich boy?” Rickon grinned.

Robb _groaned_.

“That is _Sansa’s_ decision, you knuckleheads.” He told them, firmly. “You want to spy on the trust-fund brat, you get her to agree to it first.”

“But-“

“Sansa’s. Decision.” Robb emphasized, narrowing his eyes.

Rickon pouted, but if Robb hadn’t been in so much pain, he might have noticed the thoughtful expression that crossed over Arya’s face at his words, and he might have been just a bit wary of what was going on behind that expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's processing the situation a bit differently- Robb is trying to figure out what the hell to do going forward, Arya's scared as hell, Bran is worried about how his sister is handling everything, and Rick is desperately hoping for the best, while Sansa tries to avoid the problem in hopes that it might go away. Sibling dynamics are always my favorite to write- and if you've read any of my other stories, I'm sure that's not surprising in the slightest. 
> 
> We'll see more of Jon next chapter, I promise! This chapter was getting too long, so I split it into two- I fell into the trap of writing 25+ page chapters for APWH and I'm not trying to do that again, because it generally means more time in between updates, and the editing gets extremely unruly 😅
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your kind comments, kudos', and bookmarks!! I was genuinely worried that this story would be too outlandish, so the positive response it's gotten so far has been really amazing, and incredibly encouraging. I'm over on tumblr as @mkstrigidae - come say hi if you ever get the chance!


	3. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wants to forget the whole thing ever happened, but fate apparently has other ideas, and she and Jon cross paths far sooner than either of them expected. Jon does some research, the younger Stark siblings are scheming for all they're worth, and Sansa's still so far in denial that she makes a critical mistake.

Sansa picked up several shifts a week at a bar in the penultimate level- serving drinks to wealthy club kids and watching them try increasingly dangerous genetic mods the more trashed they got. It was hard work, and her boss, Petyr Baelish, gave her the creeps, but he had known her mother, and had been kind enough to give her a job after Catelyn’s death. Besides, it paid well, and the tips were phenomenal if she played her cards right.

Margaery Tyrell- a regular customer that Sansa actually liked- both for her friendly demeanor and her tips- waved her over to a private table in the VIP section, her tattoos this week shifting and glowing in greens and brilliant rose tones, vines extending up and down her arms. There were little crystal rose petals glued to the ends of her eyelashes that tinkled gently when she blinked, and she hadn’t bothered to modify her honey-amber eyes this week, the structured panels of her bodycon dress shimmering in similar amber-gold tones. The effect was stunning, Sansa had to admit. She was sure Margaery had paid a fortune for it- the Tyrells were one of the wealthiest families in the city.

“Ms. Tyrell.” Sansa greeted, setting down a number of electrolyte-balanced waters for the table. “What can I get for you today?”

“Margaery, please, Sansa.” The girl grinned at her. “I’ve got a few friends with me today that have never tried a neon-nanite cocktail before- care to bring us a few of those? And a mercury sour for my sour-faced friend over here.” She smirked, her gaze darting over to one of the dark haired girls at the table.

“Certainly.” Sansa nodded, feeling her tight, high ponytail tug painfully on her skull as she did a quick headcount- between her hair and the pulsing blue lights of the club, she was almost certain she’d be leaving with the beginnings of a migraine at the end of her shift. “Any mind-mods tonight?” the club served doses of less potent club drugs- allowed with a certain type of bar license, and appropriate medical personnel on staff- Sansa avoided them like the plague, but certain types of stimulants and hallucinogens tended to be popular among this crowd.

“Unfortunately, no.” Margaery wrinkled her nose, “These Targaryens are boring as hell tonight, apparently. I like your tats- those new?”

“I- thanks.” Sansa managed to get out as she took in the rest of the table, stomach dropping as she actually took the time to look at who Margaery had brought with her. “they’re part of the staff uniform tonight, though, so they’re only programmed through my shift.”

“You should consider some.” Margaery told her, with a wink and an impish grin. “Those look fantastic with your cheekbones.”

Sansa managed a laugh, thanking the girl, and promising to return with drinks in short fashion. Somehow managing to get back to the bar on shaky legs (the four-inch heels Baelish required his staff to wear didn’t exactly help either), she took a moment to crouch beneath the bar, with the pretense of getting ice.

In reality, she was trying not to panic, because Margaery Tyrell had not only brought along her brother and Renly Baratheon this time, but had also dragged in what looked like _three_ different Targaryens- including one particularly familiar face. Sansa took a moment to breath and swear violently before she forced herself to focus on her task, and _think_.

There was no way Jon Targaryen- her _soulmate, Christ_ \- had recognized her- she’d pitched her voice lower that night, and she’d looked completely different. Her fucking facial tats tonight probably emphasized the bone structure that she hadn’t been able to afford to modify before their op, though, Sansa thought, cursing Petyr Baelish in her mind.

There was nothing to it- she was just going to have to play dumb and hope like hell that Jon Targaryen’s memory was as weak as his father’s security measures. It had been almost two weeks, after all- he couldn’t possibly recognize her now.

Sansa hoped like hell that she wasn’t fooling herself.

* * *

“Marg, what did you say that girl’s name was?” Jon asked, still watching the redhead’s impossibly long hair sway as she walked from side to side in some of the tallest high heels Jon had ever seen. Her high ponytail was slicked back, and her eye makeup heavy and sharp, but there was something weirdly familiar about her.

She was stunning- tall and slender with striking blue eyes, and he briefly wondered if Aegon or Viserys had brought her home at one point or another. She was more Viserys’ type than his brother’s, although there was a wary intelligence in her eyes that suggested that, even if Jon’s half-deranged uncle _had_ hit on her, she would have seen right through the power and money to the danger that lurked underneath.

“Sansa.” Margaery responded, raising a surprised eyebrow at him. “Sansa Stark, I believe.”

“How do you know her?”

“Aren’t we curious?” Margaery smirked, lifting a hand to turn his head gently back towards her. Her long nails- a dizzying holographic green- made him wince slightly as they pressed into his face. “She’s been working here for a while, and this club is always interesting.” Her face turned serious, though, and her nails tightened slightly. “She’s a sweet girl, Jon. I know it’s not your style, but don’t mess around with her-“

“I don’t mess around with people-“ Jon protested, shaking himself free of her grip to crane his neck and try to find Sansa Stark again, “You’re thinking of Aegon.”

Aegon flipped him off from across the table, though proved Jon’s point by winking at one of the other waitresses across the room. Rhaenys rolled her eyes at their brother’s antics, the effect nicely offset by the crystal pieces that surrounded them and trailed from the highlight of her cheekbones all the way up to her hairline on either side. His sister was nursing the same mercury sour that Marg had ordered for her when they arrived, and wearing an absolutely miserable expression as her eyes flicked across the crowd. Jon was sure she would rather be literally anywhere else, and he took a moment to wonder what Marg had used to blackmail his serious, introverted sister into coming out with them. They’d known and been friends with each other since they were in elementary school, and Jon imagined that Marg knew things about him that even _he_ didn’t know.

“Either way-“ Margaery smirked, watching Aegon begin shamelessly and tactlessly flirting with one of the girls one table over, “I don’t care how interested you are- leave her be unless you’re serious.”

“You seem very invested in a girl you barely know.” Jon pointed out, missing the exasperated glance his sister shared with Margaery Tyrell while he watched Sansa.

“You’re one to talk with the way you keep asking after her.” Rhae sniffed.

“She helped me out of a nasty situation a few months ago when I was here.” Margaery shrugged, so casually that, without having known her since they were children, Jon would have completely missed the way her shoulders tensed as his head whipped around.

“Did something happen?” he asked, voice low, and suddenly not nearly as concerned with Sansa Stark as he was with finding out what exactly had happened to his friend.

“A guy outside the club wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Margaery waved him off, though he noticed that his sister’s hands tightened on her glass. “She apparently heard me yell at him, and came outside to try and get rid of him. When that didn’t work, she pulled some sort of electric baton out of seemingly nowhere and hit the douchebag so quickly that neither of us saw it coming.” She smirked. “She’s surprisingly graceful- I wouldn’t be surprised if she used to be a dancer, with the way she moves.”

“But you were okay?” Jon asked, urgently. Marg gave him an indulgent smile, patting his arm as the swirling tattoos on her arm glowed green and amber.

“I was fine, thanks to her, sweetie.” She assured him, and Jon let himself relax a bit. “She always gets a pretty decent tip from me, though- she wouldn’t take any sort of reward when I offered at first, so I’m paying that debt slowly.”

Jon felt his brows raise.

“Has she figured it out yet?”

Margaery sniffed, sounding offended.

“I like to think I’m a bit more subtle than that, Jonathan.”

“The diamonds on your eyelashes say otherwise.” Jon smirked as Margaery lightly smacked him. “I don’t know Marg- she looks familiar to me, somehow. I can’t quite place it- but there’s something there.”

* * *

Sansa had had a lot of experience with needing to power through a crisis, and remaining calm in the face of a number of catastrophes that had occurred over the years.

Apparently, though, her soulmate was trying to ruin her record.

Jon Targaryen had been incredibly polite each time she came over to their table, but she had caught his eyes flicking to her several times throughout the night as she wove around customers to take orders and deliver drinks. Halfway through her shift, Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon made their way onto the dance floor, playfully trying to rope Sansa into dancing with them briefly.

She’d forced a breathy giggle and refrained from rolling her eyes- they were harmless, really, and Loras in particular was appreciative of the one time that Sansa had kept a particularly nasty creep from attacking Margaery. She hadn’t realized that the panicking girl was a Tyrell at the time- but she had recognized the face of the mid-level bastard that was blocking the girl from leaving. They’d had issues with him before in the club, and while Petyr Baelish didn’t give a shit about protecting women, he did care very much about protecting his business, and someone harassing and attacking the customers tended to be very bad for it, so she hadn’t gotten into too much trouble after knocking the creep out cold.

While Loras was courteous enough to Sansa, there was something disingenuous about the way he regarded her- Renly, his boyfriend, was the same way. Harmless, yes, but also careless, like she wasn’t really a person, just a useful thing, like an entertaining pet. Sansa supposed that behavior like that came naturally when consequences weren’t something you’d ever have to think about- certainly not with the money that the Baratheon and Tyrell families had.

Lost in thought, she almost didn’t notice one of the other patrons on the floor getting increasingly aggressive- the man was clearly high off of something stronger than the club was serving, and it was only at the last minute that Sansa realized where he was headed, quickly ducking under his arms as he tried to grab her.

“Bitch-“ he growled, his pupils blown wide open, and Sansa quickly pressed the panic button on the underside of her wrist- hopefully signaling for one of the bouncers to come handle him.

He moved again, and Sansa whirled around, rapidly sidestepping him and ducking under his arm again, and throwing a quick glance at the tray of drinks in her right hand- none had spilled yet, but she really didn’t want to risk it, and end up having to take the train home reeking of alcohol and the fruity smelling smoke from the vape pens some of the patrons held.

She managed to make her way over to the bar to set it down- the four inch heels she had to wear as a part of her uniform often made people pick her out as an easy target, but Sansa had long since learned to move _fast_ in them, and it took people off guard. She’d spent a whole month wearing them everywhere around their tiny apartment and the shop to get used to them- and had gotten quite a few funny looks from customers when the mechanic working on their bike had shown up in ripped denim, a grease and plasma smeared shirt, and sparkling, flawless black heels. Arya would still tease her affectionately about it sometimes, pretending to walk on tiptoes around their workspace and falling over half the time for her troubles.

Staying as calm as she could, she turned, desperately trying to find Lyn Corbray or one of the Kettleblack brothers- it was Osmund on duty tonight, she remembered- to help defuse the situation, but she felt a painful jerk on the back of her head, and was pulled backwards by her hair, biting her lip to avoid crying out as she instinctively threw her hands to the back of her head, coming face to face with the man she’d been trying to get away from. His teeth were bared, and Sansa paled as she realized he had a dental mod that had involved filing the teeth in front to terrifying points- several had been replaced with chrome substitutes and gleamed under the blue lights.

He growled at her, grabbing her arm with enough force that Sansa was _sure_ she would have a bruise there later- their uniform was sleeveless and she knew Petyr would be annoyed about it. If Baelish was already going to be annoyed at her for letting a customer grab her, though, he may as well be annoyed with her for defending herself and causing a scene.

Wincing as his nails dug into her arm, she ducked down, retrieving one of the vials she usually kept on her from the small pocket she’d sewn into the inside of her uniform- she was kicking herself for leaving her baton in her locker tonight, but the skirt she was wearing was too short to conceal it- and before he could argue, she jabbed it into his thigh, pushing the release valve and watching him drop like a stone as she heard the familiar hiss of the pneumatic mechanism discharging.

“ _Fuck-_ Stark- are you alright?” She heard Osmund ask, watching as he managed to push his way through the crowd, exactly 30 seconds too late to be of any help.

“Fine.” Sansa muttered, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her. “Any chance you want to tell Baelish that you downed him though?” Fortunately, she was in one of the few spots that she knew was almost completely blind to the cameras, so if Osmund would take credit for knocking the creep out, maybe she could get away from this whole mess without having to sit through a thirty-minute lecture in Baelish’s office while he looked at her like he was trying to devour her again.

“Not a problem- sorry I didn’t get here sooner- had to throw out another guy getting aggressive with some of our regulars too.”

“This one was definitely high on something.” Sansa told him, feeling considerably more charitable towards the bouncer once she looked up and saw his blackened eye- he clearly hadn’t been making excuses. “Yours?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen people this aggressive on a trip.” Osmund muttered, poking at his purpling eye. “Something new, I think. Strong, by the looks of it. I’ll have to ask around.”

Sansa bit back a groan at the thought, watching as Osmund slung the creep over his shoulder to cart him out of the bar.

* * *

Jon had initially been too involved in listening to Margaery talk- because apparently someone had _attacked_ her and she hadn’t thought to tell him before now- to notice that someone was trying to grab their waitress, but Marg gasped in the middle of a sentence, pointing towards Sansa, who was weaving around the inebriated man with some skill, managing to keep a tray of drinks steady, even as she moved towards the bar at a speed that genuinely impressed Jon.

She was fairly graceful, Jon realized- Margaery hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Shit-“ Margaery grabbed his arm, as Sansa’s expression changed to one of alarm, “Do something, Jon!”

The asshole had called her a bitch- following her back to the bar where- before Jon could even think about getting up to help- the man had grabbed Sansa’s long ponytail and _yanked_ her to him, growling at her like some sort of animal. Her face contorted in pain, but she didn’t make a sound, even as the man grabbed her arm with enough force that his nails cut into her skin, thin rivulets of blood dripping from them onto the glowing floor.

Jon was moving towards them, prepared to at least incapacitate the man so he would leave Sansa alone- but before he could even begin to intervene, she _moved._

More quickly that Jon could have imagined, she pulled something out in her hand, and then she was jabbing a pneumatic injector into his leg in a movement that was _unbelievably_ familiar to Jon, who subconsciously reached his hand down to cover the spot on his leg where his soulmate had stabbed him with a tranquilizer as he struggled to keep his breathing even.

Sansa Stark had just become a _hell_ of a lot more interesting, that was for sure.

* * *

She had fired off a text to her family to tell them that she’d run into her soulmate (conveniently leaving out the part where she’d had to take down a nasty customer, because she didn't need them worrying about that, too), and apparently Robb and Theon had thought the situation serious enough to send the cavalry to pick her up from work in the form of a stone faced Rodrik Greyjoy who was waiting outside when Sansa walked out of the club. She had to take public transit in the upper three levels unless she was on a job- there was no way they’d be able to afford the access codes that would let Sansa take her bike to Baelish’s club- and so she knew she had a long commute in front of her. At least no one would bother her on the tram with Rodrik Greyjoy’s sullen face looming next to her.

“Heard you ran into an unwelcome face.” He commented, falling into step with her as they walked towards one of the communal lifts.

“Yours is definitely welcome.” Sansa told him, patting his arm gently as she tried to keep her tired eyes open. “I didn’t realize this job would be such a liability.” She admitted, sighing as she thought about both her soulmate and the customer who had tried to attack her tonight. “I can’t afford to give it up, though- it’s the only thing I have that can officially go on a resume besides the shop, and it pays well enough that I can be selective with the other jobs that come my way.”

“You trust Baelish?” Rodrik asked, eyes flicking back towards the club.

“No one trusts Baelish.” Sansa muttered, rubbing her forehead as she made her way onto the tram platform, stepping onto the sleek train as it pulled up, suspended in a wide electromagnetic tube. “I at least know what he wants from me- that’s a leg up from everybody else, including my fucking soulmate, apparently.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“No.” Sansa shook her head. “I don’t think he did tonight, thank god. He was very nice though- tips well, so that’s a point in his favor, I guess.” She sighed, holding onto one of the poles as the tram began to move slowly forward. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if he comes back.”

* * *

Jon couldn’t stop thinking about Sansa Stark, even after Margaery had dragged them all to a different bar to continue the night. Now that he was back at his penthouse apartment, he could really think it through- and the more damning the conclusion seemed to be.

The way that she moved- the sort of almost inhuman grace she had- even in those ridiculous heels- the more he replayed it in his head, the more it reminded him of the woman who had said his soulmark words and then knocked him out in almost the same breath.

He couldn’t spend too much time speculating, though- for now, he needed to do some research, even if that meant asking for a favor from something of an unsavory source. He sighed, tapping out the ID code on the screen extending across his arm, and listened as it rang.

“Rhaegar Targaryen speaking.” The clipped voice came over the small earpiece Jon wore, designed to look like a platinum hoop earring.

“It’s Jon- are you not checking your ID before you answer?” he asked, incredulously.

“At the moment, I’m a bit busy trying to clean up loose ends related to the robbery.” His father sighed, irritably. “Replacing the statue is pocket change, but the man I was planning to sell it to is a bit put out, and some diplomacy has been required.”

“Good luck.” Jon barely held back a snort. “Listen, is there any way I could use the company archives to do a bit of research?”

Rhaegar sighed, as if he couldn’t be bothered.

“I’ll authorize it-“

“Tonight?”

“When I finish meeting with our client.” Rhaegar finished, actually sounding curious for once. “What on earth has you so fired up?”

Jon winced. According to both Dany and Viserys- the former of whom seemed to find it endearing, the latter, demeaning- his father was something of a closet romantic, so while he hadn’t _wanted_ to tell him the truth…

“I think I may have met my soulmate, but I need to do some checking up-“ Jon admitted, making it sound like it was a huge concession to tell his father, “-before jumping into anything.”

“Your soulmate?” his father asked, voice suddenly far more smug. “Don’t tell me you met your soulmate in that awful bar that Mace’s daughter likes.”

“She’s not a patron, she’s working as a waitress.” Jon muttered, bracing himself for the fallout. His father surprised him though when his tone softened.

“Then you have an opportunity to come in and sweep her off her feet like a true gentleman if you play your cards correctly.” Rhaegar told him, sounding genuine. “I’ll authorize it- use the archives, and make sure that your research is thorough enough that you can court her properly.”

“Um. Okay.” Jon mumbled, wildly confused. He’d half expected his father to throw a fit over his soulmate being, well- working class, but he wasn’t about to bemoan his luck, even if he was incredibly curious as to his father’s sudden enthusiasm. “Thanks.”

He needed to find out everything he could about Sansa Stark, first and foremost. Afterwards, though, he might just dive into his father’s life to see if there was something he’d missed that would help any of that interaction to make sense.

Because any way you looked at it- that had been _weird._

* * *

“You sure you want to keep going?” Bran asked, looking skeptically over his shoulder at Arya, who had one elbow rested on his shoulder and her other hand propped on her hip.

“Yep- show me whatcha got.” she told him, grinning.

“You think Sansa’s going to like this?” Bran scoffed, turning slightly to flick his sister on the nose.

“What Sansa doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Arya snorted, shooting Bran a glare as she stood up straight, rubbing her nose. “Besides, I’m not the only curious one- I caught you trying to break into the city archives earlier- no way you weren’t trying to keep tabs on Skylight boy.”

“I was preparing in case Sansa asked about him!” Bran squawked indignantly.

“You’re just as nosy as we are.” Arya snorted, as Rick nodded from his other side. “Now can you _please_ show us what you’ve found?”

“It’s not like Sansi’s going to yell at you for looking him up.” Rickon pointed out, looming like a thin, gangly giant over the two of them.

“Yeah but her disappointed face is worse than yelling.” Bran shuddered. “Ugh- fine. I’m blaming this all on you two if it goes sideways.”

“Fine by me.” Arya shrugged.

“So how rich _is_ he?” Rickon asked, leaning in closer to one of the holoscreens over Bran’s shoulder.

“Get your face out of my ear.” Bran complained, good-naturedly, swatting at Rickon. “He’s pretty damn rich- His family’s money touches just about every sector of industry you could imagine- the Targaryens practically built a large portion of the city, and Rhaegar Targaryen is the third wealthiest man in the city-“

“After who?” Arya asked, incredulously, looking at the amounts flashing across the screens. “That’s just- who the hell has more money than _that_?” 

“Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell.” Bran absently told her, scrolling through and shifting some of the screens floating in front of them. “A lot of the Targaryen income looks like it comes from construction- so the city being built made them richer than Croesus.”

“Than who?”

“A rich man from an old myth.” Bran sighed. “Don’t you two read?”

“As if you would even know where to begin if you picked up an engineering manual.” Rickon scoffed.

“Quit it, you two.” Arya ordered, leaning in again. “Can you pull up a picture of him? He’s the youngest son- Jon Targaryen, Sansa said.”

“Yeah-“ Bran nodded, making a complicated motion with his fingers that resulted in another shuffling of screens, “-he’s not bad looking, but Targaryen money could probably buy as many aesthetic mods as he wanted.”

Arya whistled.

“I can see why Sansa might have been a bit dumbstruck.” She admitted. “He’s very pretty.”

“There’s no way that nose is real.” Bran pointed out.

“Looks like Rhaegar’s to me.” Rickon shrugged, gesturing at the picture of his father next to him.

“What about school?” Arya asked, impatiently, motioning at the screens. “Criminal convictions? Disciplinary reports? Spending records?”

“I’m still working on that last one-“ Bran sighed, “But he looks like a normal, if outrageously lucky, bastard- and I do mean that literally.”

“That he’s a bastard?” Rick asked, looking dumbfounded. “Like- illegitimate, you mean? Is that even a word people use anymore?”

“Apparently it is if you’re that wealthy.” Bran shrugged.

“I guess that kind of thing gets pretty important when an inheritance like that is at stake.” Arya muttered. Bran nodded in agreement as Rickon frowned, fidgeting with the little plastic duck on Bran’s workspace.

“He has a different mother than his siblings, and she isn’t listed anywhere on any of his records- the information isn’t buried, or locked behind a firewall at all, it just- doesn’t exist.” Bran told them.

“That’s weird.” Arya frowned. “There’s no DNA on file? It’d be hard to miss a match.”

“Skylight residents aren’t required to have their DNA on record.” Rickon said, absently, taking a step back as Arya and Bran both turned to look at him with identical incredulous expressions. “What? Lya was talking about it last week! I listen!”

“Yeah, when it’s your soulmate talking.” Bran teased, elbowing him. Arya frowned though.

“Why don’t they have to file a sample?”

“There was a bill a couple decades ago that wanted to require it, but I guess a lot of the residents lobbied pretty hard to keep it from gaining any traction.” Bran shrugged. “They cited security reasons- I can almost understand that, given that the city database isn’t as secure as it could be.”

“You mean I have to give a fucking blood sample or let them swab my mouth anytime I want to change the credentials on my chip and they can just go anywhere they damn well please?”

“Yup.” Bran told his fuming sister. “Paying for access codes to the Skylight district is good enough to verify you to almost anyone- I mean, look how much trouble we had with the codes for this last job. We got lucky that Rick and San were dumb enough to modify her bike to go at freaking light speed, apparently.”

“Sansa checked everything herself!” Rickon protested. “She knew the risks involved in using that mod!”

“Dad would have _killed_ you two for even thinking about a mod like that-” Arya snorted, exchanging a smirk with Bran, “-after he got over his shock at goody-two-shoes Sansa deciding she wanted to DIY a fuckin’ warp drive onto a bike.”

“Well it worked.” Rickon sulked. “And it’s not like your bike isn’t every bit as tricked out with extras that dad wouldn’t like.” He glanced towards Bran. “Are you gonna tell us more about this guy or not? Because all I’ve got so far is that he’s rich as fuck, and apparently doesn’t have a mom.”

“There’s not much else _to_ tell.” Bran told them, wincing slightly. “I mean, he studied business, literature, and law in university, but doesn’t have any employment listed other than working for his father- no criminal convictions or anything, not even any mentions of complaints or charges filed.”

“Not like that means much.” Arya frowned. “That much money means he’d have to kill someone to even have a note in his records.”

“Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have done that, at the very least.” Bran grinned over his shoulder at his sister, who rolled her eyes. “He was in a fencing club at his university-“

“Lucky bastard.” Arya muttered, crossing her arms across her chest.

“-and he seems relatively well-liked by most of his peers.” Bran finished. “He was elected to chair more than one committee while he was there, and has several glowing letters of recommendation in his file.”

“Why literature?” Rickon asked, frowning at the screen. “Does that help with business stuff?”

“I don’t know.” Bran shrugged. “Maybe he just picked it for the hell of it. He got pretty good grades, but spent like, a year extra to do the lit certificate. Not like he can’t afford it- he’s got a penthouse of his own somewhere unspecified, and a trust fund to match.”

“That money’s gonna make San really uncomfortable.” Arya muttered, staring at his face. “I mean, can you imagine?”

“Not that much money, no.” Bran murmured, shaking his head. “I think you could do just about anything you wanted with your life without going through even a _fraction_ of that much money.”

“I just wish we knew more about this guy.” Arya muttered, flopping down onto one of the spare stools in Bran’s workroom. They called it a workroom, but it was more of a closet- the flat above the shop barely fit the five of them as it was. “I mean- I’m not seeing red flags yet, but like, I want to know if he’s nice to his doorman, or tips when he goes out, or if he’s one of those jerks who think that visible mech-mods are an affront to basic decency or whatever those assholes are going on about now.” Rickon nodded in agreement, absentmindedly tossing the duck up and down in the air.

“I’ll see what I can find for tips in his financials if I can get through their firewalls.” Bran promised, “Rick, did you ask Lyanna’s uncle about him?”

“Jorah?” Rickon asked, looking vaguely surprised. “He doesn’t spend enough time down in the lower districts for me to run into him normally, but I asked Lya what he had to say about the Targaryens, and the only one he complains about to her mom is Viserys, I think.” He shrugged, looking slightly self-conscious. “Her uncle works for Daenerys Targaryen, specifically, and Lya says he’s half smitten with the way he goes on about her, but she didn’t mention anything about Jon and I couldn’t really ask without giving it away.”

“Nobody seems to know anything about him.” Arya muttered, propping up her chin on her hands, somewhat petulantly.

“I mean, that’s either a really good thing, or a really bad one.” Bran pointed out. “I don’t know how to find out more either way.”

“And making Sansa talk to him again, just so we know, kinda defeats the whole purpose of scoping him out to see if he’s worthy of her or not beforehand.” Arya sighed.

“At least it sounds like he’s not the worst Targaryen she could have gotten.”

“That’s not exactly a glowing review, Rick.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

* * *

“San, you want to come look at this section?” Rickon called, looking up from one of the hovercars that had come in for repairs earlier. Sansa pushed her goggles up off her face, wiping a drip of sweat from her forehead as she lifted her head from her own project- Asha had brought her bike in for Sansa to look at, claiming that the engine had just blown, but Sansa knew bullet holes when she saw them, and was definitely going to reflect that fact on the repair invoice.

“Sure.” She answered, coming over to stand next to him as he leaned over the open hood of the vehicle. Sunlight filtered in through the industrial windows, and the rubber mats on the floor were solid under her boots. “Plasma converter interface issue?” she guessed, seeing the slick white stains on his gloves.

“Yeah.” He groaned. “You’re much better with small stuff than I am- can you take a stab at it?”

She nodded, readjusting her goggles- spinning the dial on the side to magnify her vision of the area affected.

“You’re the best!” Rickon called, his voice muffled from where he had rolled under the vehicle. Sansa could hear the buzz of his electric saw, and focused her attention and goggles more closely on the cluster of circuits that Rickon had been fiddling with- her brother was a genius when it came to creative mechanics, but Sansa had always had a knack for the more delicate work.

She’d been her father’s dedicated assistant in his own shop when she was a kid- she and Arya both, but Sansa had had steadier hands, and so Ned Stark would often set Arya to simpler tasks, showing Sansa how to handle the more delicate circuitry. She’d never wanted to be a mechanic like her dad- Sansa had wanted to be a fashion designer, and then a surgeon when she was a kid- but Ned had always cheerfully told her that if she could do microwelding, sewing or neurosurgery would seem like a walk in the park.

God, she missed him.

She was interrupted in her musings by Lyanna Mormont’s loud greeting, and the sound of her brother’s head smacking the undercarriage as he automatically tried to sit up. Sansa managed to turn a snort into a cough, but Arya was braying like a hyena over in the other corner, and managed to attract the worst of Rickon’s glare as he extricated himself from the speeder.

“Hey Lya.” Her brother muttered sheepishly, pressing a kiss to his soulmate’s cheek as she gave him an amused eyebrow raise.

“Did you forget about dinner?” she asked. “We were going to go get sushi, remember?”

“Oh fuck-“ Rickon muttered, frantically looking for a rag to wipe the plasma off his hands. Sansa threw one to him, grinning as Lyanna wrinkled her nose. The Mormonts ran a gym and rehab center on the third level, and Sansa knew the girl didn’t mind the sweat- just the ozone smell of the plasma that was clinging to Rickon’s clothing. “San- is this job due tomorrow?”

“Check with Robb- he has the schedule in the office.” She told him, looking up. “But I don’t think so, and I can easily fix this part myself even if it is. Go, have fun- maybe change your clothes first.”

“Good idea.” Rickon muttered, flipping Arya the bird as he made his way up to the small apartment they shared above the shop.

“How’s your mom doing?” Sansa asked Lyanna, pushing up her goggles so she wasn’t talking to the girl through the system readouts running along the side of her vision. She glanced down at her grimy hands, grimacing as she tried to wipe them off on the oversized collared shirt she was wearing.

“She’s good.” Lyanna grinned. “She and Dacey told me to tell you to come up whenever you want to learn a few new combos- Dace has been doing a lot of boxing lately.”

“I might just take you up on that if I have a free moment.” Sansa mused, wiping her forehead and adjusting the baggy collared shirt she was wearing. It certainly would be useful if they got more creeps in the club like the one from the other night. “Arya, you down?”

“Fuck yeah.” Her sister grinned, still taking notes from the holoscreen in front of her. “Dacey’s awesome.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before Rickon came back down, hair dripping at the ends and sheepishly grinning. Sansa and Arya waved them off, Lyanna clearly trying not to laugh as Arya stuck her tongue out at Rickon.

Another couple of customers came in to check on their pieces afterwards, and, in one interesting case, to ask if they were able to do a few fixes on a hoverboard with some genuinely interesting mods already baked into it.

The guy who had brought it in didn’t necessarily look the type- he’d tripped over at least three different cord packs just to bring the piece over for Sansa to look at it- but he was very nice, and Sansa found she rather liked him.

“I’m a physician, but still an apprentice.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck when Arya asked what he did for a living. “I’m better at the research aspect than anything- decent with patients, but never wanted to be a surgeon, so I’m not the most popular with my family right now.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with working in general medicine.” Sansa shrugged, carefully opening up one of the plates, “Not if it’s what you really care about. Plus, you make plenty of money even as a GP- I can’t see how that would upset your father.”

“He had higher ambitions.” The man named Sam shrugged, sounding faintly bitter about it. “More was expected, I guess.”

“It seems the height of stupidity to scorn a successful son just because his career isn’t what you wanted.” Sansa told him, goggles down so that she could easily magnify the smaller components she was looking at. “This won’t be a cheap fix, unfortunately- some of these circuits are completely fried, and we’ll have to replace them. The compressor is toast, and I’m not sure they even make that particular model anymore, so we’ll have to get creative with it.”

“D’you think you would be able to give me an invoice?” Sam asked, hopefully. “It’s a birthday gift for a friend’s sister- I’d like to be able to run it by him.”

“Sure-“ Sansa told him absently, pulling one of the holoscreens over and groaning as she saw the data flickering, “Arya- are you working with some kind of dampener again?” It would be just their luck that a stray dampener in the shop would inhibit her access to the central system just when she needed it.

“What are you talking about?” Arya asked, her head popping up from under the car she was working on. Her short hair was in two high, spiky pigtails, and swished around as she turned to look at Sansa in confusion.

“Oh- that may be me.” Sam said, looking rather embarrassed and patting his jacket. “Oh- I’m sorry- I keep one with me when I’m working with patients to keep the recorders from picking up confidential information, and I must have forgotten to leave it in the office.”

“No problem.” Sansa smiled at him, relieved that she wouldn’t have to go and hunt down the source of the problem later. “We can easily go old school- my dad always liked having the option, so I can write one for you.”

“Oh, r-really?” Sam sounded surprised; his eyes wide. “That would be wonderful!”

“Sure thing.” Sansa murmured, scribbling away in the notebook she kept, tearing out the information for Sam. “I hope you’ll come back to see us- It’s a pricey project, but I think you really have some great options to customize it.”

* * *

“He was nice.” Sansa observed, a few minutes after Sam had left. “I wonder who that board is really for?”

“Damned if I know.” Arya muttered, her voice muffled from where she was wedged under the vehicle she was working on. “I wonder why he came down this far to get it fixed- that’s a pretty fancy accent he’s got. It’s like the one you used to practice and try to imitate.”

“Oh hush.” Sansa told her, lobbing a rag at her sister as Arya came up for air. It smacked her in the face, and she stuck her tongue out at Sansa as she pulled it off and threw it back. “It's fancier than anything we usually see customers bring in, though- I hope he brings it back, because I have some ideas for the compressor that I want to run by Rick.”

“Whatcha thinkin?”

“Well, for one-“

They easily passed forty-five minutes arguing over the merits of different compressor brands until Arya rolled her eyes when Sansa suggested souping one up with a few unconventional modifications.

“That’s Rick’s area-“ she griped, wiping her forehead with the rag, “Maybe run that by him when he gets back from his date. And speaking of soulmates, have you figured out what you’re gonna do with yours, yet?”

“You’re ruthless.” Sansa complained, with no real malice in her voice. Conversations with Arya tended to be prone to whiplash sometimes. She hadn’t been blind to how on-edge her sister had been in the initial days after Sansa’s misadventure during the job, and it had been a relief to see Arya mellow out over the last week- even if it meant Sansa was due for an interrogation that would put the city's Intelligence Bureau to shame. “I- I really don’t know. I mean, what the hell do I do if he shows up at my work again? People talk about that strange kind of pull, and I could almost _feel_ it the other night, and I don’t know if he could too.” She bit her lip. “If I keep running into him, he’s going to figure things out, and then my cover’s blown- and _god_ I was so stupid to talk to him initially-“

“Words are a guarantee.” Arya pointed out, quickly, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. “you would have had to explain yourself to him the next time you met if you hadn’t spoken. You made the best choice you could have- I don’t know why the hell you keep doubting yourself.”

“Because it’s not just me at stake.” Sansa insisted, anxiously twisting a stray piece of hair that had fallen out of her long French braids. “If he finds out who I am, then he’ll know I was the one who stole that stupid fucking statue from his father, and that comes with a whole host of consequences for all of us-“ she gripped her forehead, “We _need_ the money that comes from working with Illyrio and the Greyjoys, Arya- Bran’s spine is a ticking time bomb, and Robb’s going to have to deal with chronic pain for the rest of his life if we can’t find the funds to at least regrow most of his bones.”

“I know, Sansa.” Arya told her, coming over to sit on the bench in front of her, legs dangling down in front of her sister. Sansa hoped like hell she didn’t bring up her soulmate’s money yet- Sansa didn’t even want to _think_ about the implications of that right now. “Believe me- I know how close we could be to losing it all- I’m not oblivious to it-“

“I didn’t say you were-“

“But why does it all have to fall on your shoulders?” Arya interrupted, staring Sansa down with her gray eyes and looking so much like their father that Sansa wanted to weep. “Why are you the one who has to shoulder _everything_ around here?”

“Because the rest of you have lives to live.”

“And you don’t?”

“I spent my entire childhood selfishly trying to get away from everything I already had.” Sansa snorted. “Dreaming of Skylight apartments and high fashion and not appreciating anything mom and dad did- I had my chance. You guys haven’t gotten that chance yet.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s a _real_ healthy mindset.” Arya crossed her arms, rolling her eyes. “You don’t _owe_ any kind of stupid penance just because you dared to be ambitious as a kid-“

“I promised dad I would take care of all of you.” Sansa muttered, and Arya looked up sharply at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I think he knew what was going to happen.” Sansa murmured, feeling vaguely nauseous. She’d never told Robb this- she’d always felt too guilty. “We had a- a talk a couple days before he died.”

“You never told us.” Arya was chalk white.

“Honestly, I was too self-absorbed to really consider it- to consider what it meant- before- before mom died.” Sansa swallowed. “I didn’t understand what he meant until after that- I don’t know why he said something to me- I sure as hell wasn’t anyone’s first pick for the responsible one back then, and it took me long enough to pull my head out of my ass to get it together.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arya snapped, looking vaguely mutinous. “You literally handled _everything_ from the moment mom died onwards- the hospital, the bills, mom’s funeral, Robb’s treatment- _you_ were the one that found us that first shitty apartment and convinced old man Selmy to hire us on as junior mechanics because he knew dad when they were younger. _You_ were the one who found Shae, and decided that we should buy the shop from Barristan when he retired three years ago.”

“Robb handled most of that.” Sansa muttered.

“Yeah, the _financials_.” Arya emphasized. “But it was your idea- and it’s the most stable we’ve been since then, and then you just kept taking on more and more dangerous shit just to keep everyone healthy, and I mean, _Christ_ , Sansa, don’t you ever want to take like, five minutes and just do something for _you_?”

“I wish I could afford to, sometimes.” Sansa admitted, tiredly. “But it’s not like you get the chance to do much for yourself either- I know you took that apprenticeship with Jaquen so that my jobs would be easier, and you spend all your time at the shop either taking repair jobs or studying instead of spending time with your friends.”

“Okay, okay, so we’re _both_ horribly maladjusted!” Arya threw her hands up and Sansa laughed, patting her sister’s knee affectionately. “I still think you deserve the chance to at least _try_ to be happy with your soulmate- I remember how much you wanted that when we were kids.”

“I wish I could, but it just feels too dangerous.” Sansa shook her head. “There are too many variables that I can’t account for, and-“

They broke off as the bell rung, and the shop door swung open.

Sansa felt her stomach drop into her feet, and stood up slowly, holding herself in front of Arya, who seemed to notice how Sansa had tensed.

“How can we help you?” she asked, trying to keep her tone cheerful as she took in the solemn face and violet eyes of her soulmate. “I’m sorry- you look familiar- are you friends with Margaery Tyrell?”

“I am.” He nodded, giving her a small smile. Sansa could tell Arya was poking her head above Sansa’s shoulder to try and see better, and surreptitiously kicked her. “I think you were our waitress the other night.”

Arya had gone rigid, and Sansa knew she had made the connection.

“Probably.” Sansa smiled at him. “What can we help you with? I’ll admit, it’s not very often I have the same customers for both of my jobs, but there’s a first time for everything.” She was babbling, but god, she couldn’t seem to stop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen- he wasn’t supposed to just show up here.

Jon Targaryen seemed to be intently examining the shop around him, scrutinizing it, and Sansa resisted the urge to shove Arya out the door and tell her to hide. He turned back to Sansa, his eyes softening a bit as he gave a tired smile, pushing his hair back from his face.

“Well, I think I might be here about something else, if I’m right about you having a third job, Sansa Stark.” He told her, taking a few steps closer as Sansa backed up right into a wide-eyed Arya.

 _“He knows your name?”_ she heard her sister whisper, pitched so only she could hear, and Sansa could only shake her head, making sure to stay between Arya and her soulmate.

He pulled something out of his pocket to unfold, and Sansa’s stomach lurched as she realized it was the invoice that she’d given Sam.

A handwriting sample. She’d practically handed him a fucking handwriting sample without even thinking about it, and it didn’t get much dumber than that.

If he kept looking at her like that, she was going to start hyperventilating.

“I had to get a handwriting sample to be sure, but you looked really familiar the other night.” He told her, and Sansa reached behind her to grip Arya’s hand like a vise- both for comfort, and to keep Arya from attacking the man off the cuff. “I know it probably wasn’t the ideal first meeting, but I really had hoped to at least get my soulmate’s cell ID number- and to maybe get to talk to her before she just decided that disappearing from my life was the best option off the bat.” He met Sansa’s eyes, and there was something about him that looked eager, even as his face was guarded.

“Hello, Sansa Stark.” He said, softly, when she didn’t respond to his previous words, taking a step closer to her. “I’m Jon Targaryen- your soulmate- but I get the feeling that you already knew that.”

 _“Sansa-“_ Arya hissed from behind her, “Let me _go-_ “

“You know, I really wanted to ask you the other night why you thought that having you in my life would ‘ruin me’?” he continued, his voice calm even as she could tell his fists were clenched in his pockets. Sansa had never seen eyes that intense- and meeting them while having his attention fully on her felt like staring directly into the brilliance of the sun. “Did you not want me? Because I can tell you, I’ve been waiting for you for a _very_ long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, you crazy kids. I hope this update provides at least a small reprieve if you're suffering from quarantine boredom/anxiety/all of the above, and I hope everyone's staying healthy and isolated. 
> 
> Several things to note: 
> 
> There is no force on heaven and earth that can convince me that Margaery Tyrell is straight, and she's probably been shamelessly flirting with a clueless Sansa for months now and enjoying every second of it. Also, Sansa's probably the only person in the world right now who can call bullshit on Asha Greyjoy for anything and not immediately get a death glare- Re: bullet holes in an engine Sansa's trying to fix. (Honestly, Marg could probably pull it off, but that's too much chaotic energy for even this story). 
> 
> Arya's calmed down a bit since we last saw her- it's been about two weeks since everything went down, and I think she's been able to address a lot of what she's worried about and is more worried about Sansa's mental well-being now than her physical safety. Arya and Sansa's relationship is always fun to write because they process things so differently. Arya's an external processor- everything is going to be out in the open and emotional, and Sansa tends to process internally and compartmentalize a lot, and so it's hard for anyone to get a read on how she feels about something- Sansa herself included. They've been through a lot together, though, and the two of them are in a comfortable place with each other where they try to meet in the middle- honestly, it's kind of a nice break to write a well-established family dynamic like theirs after working on some of the scenes in APWH. 
> 
> Jon's pulled off an interesting little scheme with Sam here- I think one of the things that you miss if you haven't read the books is that Jon is actually much more intuitive, much more clever, and far more willing to lie/mislead people to achieve his goals- he's much more complex, really, and he isn't stupid or politically naive the way that the show kind of paints him. So yeah, if he wants to find his soulmate- if he wants proof that it's Sansa Stark, after recognizing the way she moves (again, he's observant) and suspecting it's her, he's going to find a way to get that proof. And of course he's going to give her a melodramatic speech when he finds her, because I think he can absolutely be a drama queen when the mood strikes haha.
> 
> Also: I have a few friends that work in software engineering and coding- if any of you do, I hope you can appreciate Bran’s rubber duck, and forgive the fact that I am not even close to being computer-literate to the degree that the characters I write are. Also, the switch from the high-tech, fast paced, neon, synthetic environment of the club and the skylight district, to the more natural, lived-in, earthy world of the Stark's shop is really interesting to write- Sansa's always been a chameleon I think, and can move between both worlds, but is clearly more comfortable now in her family's repair shop, in no small part because it reminds her of her dad. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all of your kind words, comments, bookmarks, and kudos'- I love reading all the comments you guys leave me, even if I don't have time to respond to all of them right now (I'm working on that- sorry!!!). If you're ever on tumblr, feel free to come say hi- I'm @mkstrigidae ! Hope you enjoy!


	4. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings are never easy, and this isn’t exactly the first time they’ve met. Or even the second. Really, between the complications her soulmate brings, and the attention of her siblings, it’s no wonder Sansa has such a headache.

Sansa looked on edge- ready to run at any second- and Jon had to stop himself from moving forward. She looked like she was ready to bolt, honestly, and the girl next to her- half behind her- the sister, Arya Stark, according to the file he’d pulled together- was glaring threateningly at him.

Jon sighed.

“I don’t want to harm you or blackmail you or anything else- I just want to talk to you.” He said, running a hand through his hair. “Preferably without a needle in my leg this time. My brother hasn’t let me forget that someone managed to get the drop on me.”

She was as gorgeous as he remembered from the club and their initial meeting- somehow even more so, what with her natural hair color back and the facial tattoos from the other night gone. Instead of the short, form-fitting club uniform, though, she was wearing a loose collared shirt with a nametag that said ‘Ned’ on the right breast pocket, a pair of oil-spattered jeans that looked like they’d been mangled half to hell, and some of the sturdiest combat boots he’d ever seen. Her face was white with terror- and fucking _hell_ , was she really _that_ frightened of him? The red of her hair looked even darker against her pale face, and bits of it were hanging out of the long braids she’d tied it into- a few pieces were stuck in the goggles she had pushed up on her forehead. They must have been some sort of protective equipment- her sister was wearing them as well. It would have been a far cuter picture if Sansa didn’t look like she expected him to attack her any second now.

“What did you tell them?” Sansa asked him, her grip white knuckled on the pointed tool that she had been poking around inside Rhae’s old hoverboard moments earlier. He hoped like hell she wasn’t going to try and stab him with that. Aegon would never let him forget it, and Margaery would probably laugh at him if he let Sansa get the drop on him.

“Nothing about you at all.” Jon assured, showing her his palms in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “They don’t think I saw anything of the thief before getting knocked out.”

“Why are you here?” Arya snarled at him, her eyes flickering from him to Sansa with some worry every time she regarded her sister’s face. Jon considered his intuition to be fairly good, and he had the feeling that Arya’s threats weren’t personal- just a response to the obvious fear that was rolling off Sansa in waves.

And wasn’t that just fantastic. He’d wanted to _meet_ his soulmate- talk to her and maybe take her out for lunch if she agreed- not _terrify_ her.

“I- I just wanted to see you again.” Jon answered Arya, not moving his gaze from Sansa’s eyes. They were a crystal-clear blue today- the brown must have been a gene mod. “Um- how is your arm?”

“Arm? What happened to your arm?” Arya turned to Sansa, a questioning look on her face. Sansa’s expression had briefly changed to one of panic, though she smoothed over her face quickly enough to make Jon wonder if he imagined it. “San?”

“I had a customer try to grab me at the club the other day.” Sansa calmly told her sister. “He didn’t get far, don’t worry- Osmund took him out before he could do any real damage.”

“What the _fuck-_ Sansa- you told us you would say something if the club got to be too much-“

“It’s not too much-“ Sansa protested, tone annoyed and focused mostly on her sister, thought Jon noticed her gaze flick up to him several times, “He briefly grabbed me, Osmund got rid of him. That’s all there is to it.” She sighed, and Jon took a moment to wonder if she was always this dismissive of her own safety. She had relaxed marginally, though, when she started bickering with her sister, and he figured it was routine for them.

Arya whirled around to Jon, pinning him with a more intimidating glare than the one he had seen on Tywin Lannister the last time he’d been in the same room as the ruthless man.

“Is she downplaying it?”

“I- well-“ Jon stammered, too shocked to say much else, and not sure what _to_ say. Arya whirled around on her sister, glaring at her until she abruptly deflated, shoulders slumping.

“Sansa, are you injured?” she asked, quietly, and he watched Sansa’s expression open up just a bit.

“It’s just some scratches and a bruise.” She told her sister, quietly.

“You got hurt and didn’t tell any of us?” A new voice demanded, and Jon was slightly taken aback as a man with the same bright red hair as Sansa came down the shop stairs. He’d read about Robb Stark’s injuries in the research he’d done, but he hadn’t realized his mods were so extensive- blinking lights stretched up and down the metal panel on the side of his face that covered one ear, and Jon could see the glow of plasma tubes underneath his shirt- he could see some silicone peeking out where the man had his shirt unbuttoned, and there was another mod snaking down one of his arms.

Sansa looked vaguely panicked now, and Jon wondered if they’d forgotten about him completely.

“Sansa we made a _deal_ -“

“I’m _fine_ Robb.” She insisted, rubbing her arm where Jon knew the bruise was. “Really-“

“Shirt.” Arya snapped, crossing her arms, and Sansa seemed to realize she was beaten, unbuttoning the oversized collared shirt she was wearing to reveal a short-sleeved t-shirt underneath, and a _dark_ hand-shaped bruise on her upper right arm. Jon was almost certain he wasn’t concealing his shock very well. He wondered if she’d had any sort of doctor look at it, and fired off a quick text to Sam to see if he was still in the area.

Robb’s expression was nearly pleading.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Sansa?” he asked, coming over to stand next to her an put an arm around her.

“Because none of you need to worry about it.” Sansa insisted, shaking free of her brother to wrap her arms around herself. “Look, we took care of it, okay?”

“Has this happened before?” Robb asked her, gesturing wildly. “Have you been hiding injuries from us all this time?”

“No-“

“We only know about this one because apparently soulmate-boy saw the creep grab Sansa.” Arya crossed her arms, and Robb’s eyes widened almost comedically as he turned to look at Jon.

“Wait- this is-?”

“You thought we were all just having this discussion in front of a random customer?” Arya snapped at her brother. “He knows, Robb!”

Robb froze, staring at Jon with fear in his eyes.

“He knows?” he asked, quietly, his tone velvet in a way that made Jon shiver. “Knows what?”

* * *

Robb’s words caused a hush to fall over the shop, and Sansa knew she had to step in before someone decided to do something drastic. She wouldn’t put anything past Arya, and the threatening way Robb was looking at her soulmate didn’t exactly reassure her.

“Everything.” Sansa sighed, feeling a migraine coming on. This was too much.

She wasn’t sure if she was more panicked that she’d been discovered- and by her soulmate, nonetheless- or more embarrassed at the fact that her soulmate’s first impression of her and her family was of them arguing. With the way Robb was glaring at Jon right now, she was genuinely worried she was going to have to step in, because chances were that if Robb decided Jon was a dead man, Arya would jump on the bandwagon in a heartbeat.

“Everything?” Robb asked, not taking his eyes off of Jon. “What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what you think it does, dumbass!” Arya snapped, hands on her hips.

“Look, I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble for anything-“ Jon insisted, holding his palms up, “I just wanted to see Sansa-“

“Do you understand the danger you could have put us in?” Robb roared, and Sansa was profoundly grateful now that the shop was both soundproofed and empty. “Put _her_ in?”

“What danger?” Jon growled, throwing his arms up. “I’m not trying to cause any fucking trouble, mate- I just wanted to see my _soulmate_ -“

“You tricked us into giving you a sample of her handwriting!“ Arya growled.

“How the hell else was I supposed to figure it out?” Jon asked, through gritted teeth. “We exchanged words, and then I got hit with a damn tranquilizer in the leg and had no idea who she was until I saw her tranq that guy in the club!”

Sansa stopped breathing, looking up to meet Jon’s expression with horror.

“You had to _tranquilize_ the guy that gave you that bruise?” Robb hissed.

Sansa’s head was spinning- this was too much. Arya was yelling something, and Robb was demanding something else, and her chest was really heavy, and her entire cover might have been blown and that would mean that she could be arrested and detained or executed and then no one would be able to pay for Robb’s medical bills- she wouldn’t ever be able to make enough money to replace Bran’s spine again before the metals leeching out of it killed him- Oh god and no one would be able to stop Arya from stepping into Sansa’s role and then they would catch _her_ too-

She hadn’t realized that she was on the floor and hyperventilating until Robb’s concerned face was right in front of hers- he was holding her face in his hands, and Sansa still couldn’t breathe-

“-need to give her some space-“ Jon was saying, “-Sansa can you hear me?”

“-the fuck is going on?”

“-having a panic attack.” Someone snapped, and it was a familiar voice- and then the portly man that had brought in the hoverboard earlier was crouched in front of her, and his voice was calm and steady, and it helped her focus- she could hear him if she focused.

“-don’t have to talk, Sansa, but just follow my voice, okay?” he asked, still calm. Sansa nodded, chest rising and falling at breakneck pace. “I need you to find five things you can feel around you- find those and focus on those.”

Sansa could feel the holed rubber mats on the floor of the shop- their rough texture was hell on her bare feet- the concrete below was cool on her hands, and there was hair tickling the back of her neck, and she could feel her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth- and there was the dull throb of the pain in her arm.

“Good-“ Sam smiled, looking pleased, “Now what you can smell-“

And Sansa slowly felt herself coming back- felt her breaths slowing, until she was calm enough to just barely keep herself from bursting into tears.

“How do you feel?” Sam asked her, kindly.

“I’ve been better.” Sansa managed in a hoarse whisper. “Thank you.”

“I used to have panic attacks of my own all the time.” Sam told her, as though they were sharing a secret. “They kind of suck.”

“Yeah.” Sansa shuddered. “They kind of do.”

“Is she okay?” a voice called from across the room, and Sansa squeezed her eyes shut.

“Did you banish my brother?” she asked, in a very small voice.

“Their yelling seemed to be bothering you, so I sent them all across the shop until they could _behave_.” Sam turned, and Sansa was sure he was glaring at both her siblings and Jon, and to know that Sam was glaring at Jon too- at _his_ friend- and that was something that was quietly very reassuring to Sansa. He turned back to her, an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry about them- do you want to move somewhere else? It can’t be very comfortable on that mat.”

“I think I’m gonna stay here for just a second.” Sansa mumbled, red-faced. The full weight of what had just happened was hitting her, and she felt so _tired_ and embarrassed that her siblings had had to see her break down- that her soulmate had seen her panic in a way she had managed not to show anyone else since Robb’s accident. “I- I think I’m just going to sit here.”

She genuinely wasn’t sure if her legs would work anyways. This was like that time she’d gotten pushed off a bridge running errands for the Greyjoys and had smacked into the water so hard that she had gasped and the rest of her breath had been taken with it. When she’d found her way out, every muscle in her body was sore, and her collarbone had been almost completely shattered- she’d been exhausted for days.

This was a bone deep tired Sansa hadn’t known was possible, and she was more than a little dizzy.

“San?” Robb sounded incredibly guilty, and Sansa grimaced before she shifted her expression so her brother wouldn’t see her discomfort.

“Sorry.” She managed to get out, trying to get up, but slumping against the back of a cabinet as a wave of dizziness hit her. “I-“

“Can we go up and talk about this?” Robb asked, quietly. “Please?”

“No yelling.” Sansa instructed weakly. “Just- give me a moment to figure out how to get up-“

She hadn’t even finished her sentence before Robb was sweeping an arm under her knees to pick her up, rolling his eyes.

“I promise no yelling.” He told her.

“We need to talk to Jon too.” Sansa told him, her stomach flipping.

“Yeah, yeah- he’s following us.” Robb grumbled. “Bastard.”

“ _Robb_.”

* * *

“Look, I- I promise I’m not going to get mad, but can you please actually tell us what happened the other night?” Robb asked, setting Sansa down on the threadbare couch in the office. Jon and Sam were following Arya up, both looking slightly lost in the earthy room. Sansa liked that about the shop- about their little apartment. She loved the neon and the shining gleaming glass and metal of the city, but this was home to her now, and there wasn’t a modern design element in sight.

Not that there were many design elements- that was the kind of thing they couldn’t really afford, but they had little things from their house back before their father’s death- actual photos on the wall, because Catelyn Stark had preferred them to holofilm, and the wolf statue that Ned Stark had built out of spare parts and junk- it was beautiful and real, and it’s nose was shiny and bright where the rest of the metal was dull, because Ned had always told them to pat his snout for luck.

“I was waiting tables- nothing unusual- when a regular customer of mine came in and brought- um- Jon with her.” Sansa sighed, pulling her knees up to her forehead as Arya curled up next to her. “Stop _glaring_ , Robb- he was perfectly polite.“ Sansa would admit that, as frustrated as she was with him, there was a certain security now that Robb was in the room with them, and sitting next to her, and glaring at her soulmate for even daring to look in her direction. She still wasn’t sure Jon wouldn’t just walk out of here today and blow her cover, but they could figure _that_ out when Sansa didn’t feel like she’d just boxed half a dozen rounds with Dacey Mormont. “I- there was a man on the dance floor who tried to grab me while I was passing through with a tray- I ducked a couple of times, he called me a bitch- and I headed over to the bar to hit my panic button to alert Lyn or Osmund.”

“Corbray’s a fucking idiot.” Robb sneered.

“He’s perfectly nice to me.” Sansa huffed.

“Yeah, because you’re gorgeous, San.” Arya snorted, and Sansa just raised a brow.

“Lyn decidedly is not interested in girls.” She told Arya, incredulously. “How do you not know that? It’s on all of his social media and everything. Also, he’s nice to me because I don’t try to antagonize him every time I see him, unlike _some_ people.” She shot Robb a look.

Jon snorted slightly and Robb turned to glare at him again.

“You have a problem with that?”

“Not in the slightest.” Jon told him, meeting his eyes, and if they didn’t stop the macho posturing soon, Sansa was going to run away to the other side of the world and never talk to either of them again. “But it does explain why one of the bouncers spent so much time flirting with Loras and Renly.”

“Tyrell and Baratheon?” Robb asked, shocked, before a disgruntled look came over his face again. “Wait- you had a customer grab you because Corbray was too busy _flirting_ to do his job?”

“Lyn and Osmund were both dealing with other problem customers.” Sansa sighed. “Are you going to let me talk?”

“Sorry, San.” Robb apologized, looking sheepish.

“Like I was saying, I got over to the counter, hit my panic button, and set down my drinks tray- I didn’t realize he was behind me until he grabbed me, and I had to use one of my tranq injectors to down him. He was high on something that made him really aggressive- I’ve genuinely never had a customer get that violent, Robb.”

“He pulled your hair too.” Jon said, quietly, and Sansa gaped at him. “He yanked your ponytail so hard that I was amazed you were still walking around for the rest of the night. And he had some weird mod- his teeth were pointed.”

“Would you quit downplaying shit like this?” Arya asked, poking Sansa sharply in the side. She yelped, glaring at Arya. “Is that why you came home with a migraine?”

“That ponytail alone is generally enough to do that.” Sansa muttered.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me-“

“I texted you-“ Sansa insisted-

“Yeah, to tell me that Targaryen over here was there. You didn’t say _anything_ about getting assaulted at work!”

“You know that I had a friend walk me home.” Sansa snapped. “and he’s not _exactly_ the type to mess with- I was perfectly safe on my way back, out of the club.”

Robb sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“I fucking hate that you have to work there.” He muttered. “Just Baelish alone-“

“We can talk about that part later, Robb.” Sansa quickly interrupted, not wanting to give Jon any more information than he already had. “Priorities.”

“Right.” Robb muttered. “The soulmate.”

“I’m not sure what the hell you want me to do to prove to you that I’m not trying to get any of you in trouble.” Jon argued. “I genuinely just wanted to meet-“

“You tricked us into giving you a handwriting sample-“ Arya growled, and Sansa had had enough.

“Stop it.” She snapped, and everyone shut their mouths, instantly. “We’re going to be _adults_ about this, alright? Robb, Arya- give us a few minutes up here to talk. If he tries to threaten me, you’ll be right in the shop if I need you.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Sam-“

“I’ll see about asking your sister about the hoverboard.” He smiled. “The project is genuine, at least.”

“It used to be my sister’s.” Jon murmured, meeting Sansa’s eyes. “She’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie.”

“That’s a kind way of saying that she’s completely insane.” Sam snorted, raising his eyebrows as he followed her siblings out. “We’ll keep ourselves entertained!”

And then the door was shut, and they were alone.

* * *

Jon felt exceedingly awkward as he watched Sansa uncomfortably draw her knees even tighter to her chest. He’d always pictured that meeting with his soulmate- having a conversation with them- would be easier- or at least less eventful- than this. He’d figured he would have to win them over- had been looking forward to it, actually- but Sansa seemed genuinely afraid of him, and he couldn’t figure out why.

“I- I’m sorry if I made your afternoon difficult.” Jon finally settled on, meeting Sansa’s eyes from where he sat on an ancient chair across from the couch. ”That really wasn’t my intention.”

“I certainly didn’t make our first meeting very easy for you.” Sansa mumbled, looking embarrassed. “I am sorry about that- although for what it’s worth, I only gave you a mild sedative- nothing with long lasting effects and nothing near as potent as the tranq I used on that guy in the club the other night.”

“You could have just tied me up.” Jon felt the need to point out.

“No rope.” Sansa shrugged, tiredly. There were circles under her eyes that he hadn’t seen before, and it was like being in this place was stripping away all of the other personalities she had worn before. He hoped he could meet the real one, soon. “Unfortunately, the only alternative was the electric baton I had tucked away- and I thought electrocuting my soulmate might be a bad idea.”

“Well, I appreciate the restraint then.” Jon managed to get out, trying to picture Sansa with a weapon, before he remembered Margaery’s story. “Marg told me you used that on someone giving her a hard time.”

“It’s better to be prepared than not.” Sansa told him, relaxing a little until her legs were just folded crisscross.

“Well nevertheless, I’m really glad you were there to help her- thank you.”

Sansa blushed, turning her head away.

“She’s a considerate customer, and a good conversationalist when the club isn’t busy.” She told him, seeming almost embarrassed, although Jon couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “Have you two been friends for long?”

“Since we were children.” Jon admitted, surprised. “Most people assume we’re a couple, though.”

“She’s brought her soulmate to the club before.” Sansa shook her head, giving him a bit of a wry smile. “And you look nothing like Brienne.”

“Ah.” Jon chuckled, letting the conversation lapse into an uncomfortable silence.

“You can ask.” Sansa spoke up, legs drawn in again and arms tightly folded across them.

“Will you answer honestly?”

“As much as I can.” She told him.

“Then why- why _were_ you stealing a 7th century art piece from my father’s collection?” Jon asked, a hint of exasperation in his tone. Sansa sighed.

“It’s kind of a long story, but you got a good look at Robb, right?” he nodded, the pieces beginning to slot together as he considered her brother’s obvious bio-med mods. “There’s a lot of care that he needs that we can’t really afford, even with putting in overtime at the shop and working at the club four times a week-“

“Four times a _week_?” Jon exclaimed. Sansa merely nodded, her face drooping slightly.

“It pays better than most jobs.” She admitted. “It’s a night position, so I can still be in the shop during the day. My- our other brother, Bran, needs a replacement spine again, though, and Robb’s been forgoing some pain treatment to help us save for it- that’s why he’s a bit more irritable than normal today- he’s normally much more calm than this.”

“He needs a replacement spine?” Jon asked, confused. “Again? And wait- when do you _sleep_?”

“When I can.” Sansa gave him a wan smile. “Enough. And yes- he suffered a pretty traumatic injury almost a decade ago, and would have been completely paralyzed if they hadn’t replaced his spine. As is, he still has prosthetic legs- but it doesn’t impede his ability to live.” She looked down. “The only thing that does that is the way that other people treat him.” She murmured. “That, and the particular model he received.” She winced. “They’ve improved a lot since then- if we can save up for a replacement now, he shouldn’t ever need to have one again.”

“So, your brothers needed medical care, and you became a cat burglar?” Jon asked, skeptically.

“It’s more complicated than that.” Sansa snapped, giving him a cool look. “I didn’t- Robb is the only one with any university credits, and the pro-carbon movement’s made it next to impossible for him to get any sort of job because of his mods- we didn’t-“ she shook her head, “ _I_ didn’t have any other options at the time- Robb was in the hospital, and having the money for him meant the difference between them treating him and not treating him.”

“But- that was all you could do?” Jon asked, disbelievingly. He wasn’t going to touch the parent topic- he could read between the lines well enough.

“It was complicated.” Sansa repeated, burying her face in her knees. “Look, I’ve never harmed anyone awfully or killed anyone, and the targets of my jobs can always afford the losses.”

“Well, that’s certainly true of my father.” Jon snorted. “I think he was more impressed with the job you’d done than anything, honestly. How much practice have you had to get that good?”

“Please don’t ask me that.” Sansa said, and Jon could hear an anxious hitch in her voice. “Look, if you want me to do something for you in return, a job, or anything, I’ll do it. But if I’m reported, and they arrest me, either my family won’t be able to afford Bran’s care, and he’ll die, or Arya will get herself killed trying to take on what I’ve been doing. Just- please.” She begged, her voice ragged as she met his eyes.

Jon was floored.

“Sansa I’m- I told you- I’m not going to turn you in to anyone- you’re my _soulmate_ for chrissakes- I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to keep you _safe_ , not deliberately put you in danger.” She merely stared at him, posture stiff and eyes wide. He sighed. “And for what it’s worth, my father and I don’t see eye to eye on much- my siblings and I thought the heist was more amusing than anything else. Hell, I would have paid you to steal the damn thing just to see the look on his face when he realized that someone managed to bypass all of his security.”

It had been the right thing to say- Sansa had visibly relaxed, and was giving him a small, tired smile.

“His security is awful.” She told him, her voice thick. “But I suppose you wouldn’t tell him that.”

“It’s funnier to see him realize it in real time.” Jon shrugged. “I just- I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me- that I don’t particularly care that you robbed my father, and that I’m not going to turn you in. I just- I just want to get to know you.” He grinned at her. “You’re my soulmate, after all. That’s got to mean something, right?”

“What- what would that entail?” Sansa asked, hesitantly, and Jon was so relieved that she hadn’t rejected him outright that he probably would have agreed to just about anything she asked.

* * *

“She’s stressed out.” Jon muttered. “She’s not eating enough. She works too much, and I don’t know when the hell she sleeps, Sam!”

“And what do you expect to be able to do about that?” his friend asked, scrolling through the device on his arm as they walked. “She’s not going to accept financial support from someone she barely knows, even if you’re her soulmate. She clearly needs those jobs to save money for her brother’s care, and it’s likely that she’s not sleeping and eating enough because she’s stressed out about her brother possibly dying.” Sam pointed out.

“I just- I just look at her and I want to take care of her.” Jon sighed, running his hand through his now very messy hair. “It doesn’t look like anybody’s tried to do that in a long time.”

“So do you think she would even know how to respond to it, if you just immediately showed up with grand romantic gestures?” Sam asked, seriously. “Gilly still has a really hard time letting me in on some things- and we’ve been together for almost six years. This difficult period I think has been going on for almost eight years now.” He pointed out. “That’s eight years of Sansa being everything for everyone else, and learning to probably put everyone before herself. I mean, she was reluctant to tell her brother about a threat to her safety at work because she knew he’d worry and ask her to consider quitting because her safety isn’t worth his health, and if she quit, their family would suffer financially. So, she keeps quiet about it and puts them first.”

“I never expected this to be easy,” Jon mumbled through the hand that he had pressed to his face, “but I didn’t think It would be this complicated.”

“What _were_ your first words to her?” Sam asked.

“Something about her being the prettiest thief I’d ever seen- ah _shit_.” Jon swore, smacking himself in the forehead. “Destiny rears it’s fucking head- did I influence that choice?”

“Honestly, it sounds like her erm- odd jobs,” Sam delicately put it, “Are almost less risky than her club job, to be honest. And I’m not sure you can give yourself all the credit for that one- she made a choice to start doing this- and after meeting her, I’m not sure there’s a man on earth who could get her to stop once she’s made up her mind.”

He wasn't even going to _begin_ to address the determinism versus free will question today.

“You’re probably right.” Jon grumbled.

“Are you going to see her again?” Sam prodded, when Jon was silent. “Jon?”

“Yeah- she’s letting me take her out to lunch on Wednesday.” Jon answered, snapping out of his thoughts to give Sam a genuine smile. “She wouldn’t tell me when she was working at the club this week, though.”

“Small steps for now.” He told Jon, trying not to smirk. “Where are you taking her? Nowhere too expensive, hopefully.”

“You and the universe are determined to ruin my fun.” Jon grumbled. “Obviously I don’t want to overwhelm her- but how am I supposed to impress a girl without taking her somewhere nice?”

“You need to spend more time around girls who aren’t Margaery.” Sam snorted. Jon just sighed in response.

“You’re probably not wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I survived school! I finished the semester without having a complete nervous breakdown over academics and the deluge of family stuff that's been happening lately! (Not a clue how that happened, but I have time for writing again and I'm really psyched about it!)
> 
> Jon's a bit of a hopeless romantic and I think Rhaegar is probably to blame. This chapter almost feels like filler? But like, it's important relationship development and everything, there's just a lack of cool motorcycle scenes, and the cool factor is kind of why i started writing this. (Actually, I started writing this because 'Detroit 3AM' by David Guetta came on one of my spotify playlists and just straight up injected this idea into my head, but that's irrelevant). Sansa's dealing with a lot here, poor kid, and has been under a lot of stress for a long time, and that sort of thing doesn't just disappear overnight. Also, I love a lot of things about this premise, but Jon and Margaery being childhood friends here is actually one of my favorites, and I think Margie is definitely going to be the one Jon goes to for girl advice at some point, which has the potential to be hilarious. 
> 
> Also I got like, five comments on and several tumblr messages about this fic yesterday just one after another out of the blue? It was absolutely fantastic, I just keep wondering how that sort of thing happens. Like, how did you all find this fic on the same day? Please tell me because I'm very curious. (Also, thank you! You guys made my day, and made me want to revisit this, subsequently making me realize that this chapter was pretty much already written and ready to be posted with some editing!)
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr- i'm @mkstrigidae ! And once again, thank you for reading, and for all your kind comments and bookmarks and kudos! I especially absolutely LOVE getting emails that tell me i have comments on my work. I've been too busy lately to respond to most of them, unfortunately, because of school, but they absolutely make my day every time, and even if you only write me like, three words, it means the absolute world to know that people enjoy these stories as much as I do! So thank you to all of you!!! 
> 
> (And stay safe and healthy out there, especially if you live in the U.S. like I do, and have to hear morons on the news treat the existence of the virus like it's a partisan issue- in other news, my mom has told me i'm not allowed to yell at the TV when the news is on because she wants to be able to hear it, and apparently, Rand Paul being a fucking moron- as per usual- is not an acceptable exception to that newly instated rule).

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened, but it was probably a combination of quarantine brain, a techno playlist my friend made me, and allergy medicine. Legitimately, I had an ADHD hyperfocus spree and wrote three chapters of this in one day, and again, it's sansa-centric. I'm basically that meme where Marge Simpson is holding a potato and is like 'I just think they're neat'... except with a picture of Sansa Stark. (don't worry, i'm still working on all my other stuff- this one just kind of.... happened). 
> 
> Anyways, cyberpunk is such a rad aesthetic and i couldn't resist the image of Sansa Stark on a really cool motorcyle, and a lot of residual resentment at the cost of medical care in the U.S. and the disproportionate distribution of wealth crept in because we've been seeing the consequences of all that and a lot of other issues as this pandemic continues- it's been one hell of a year this week, y'all. Hang in there, stay healthy, stay isolated to limit the spread of the virus, and take this seriously, because it's pretty clear at this point that the U.S. government isn't going to.
> 
> I love and appreciate every one of your comments, and feel free to come say hi on tumblr- i'm @mkstrigidae ! :)


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